the premier league
by Daffidill
Summary: there's always a first time for everything... DI Greg Lestrade thinks back on the beginnings of his relationship with a certain Mr Holmes... {rated M for later chapter...}
1. as first times go

* _author's note: 'fraid i've fallen head over heels with both DI Lestrade and Mycroft, so this story sort of sprouted from some fantasies i've been having about both guys. also think that Mycroft is an intriguing character, but gets a bad press on the whole and i think this needs rectifying, at least... _

_written from Lestrade's point of view... _

_accompanies my other stories _**partidges & pear trees**_ as well as _**a different league of gentlemen **{_might help for certain things to become clearer, maybe_...}

_for non-British readers: The Premier League is the main football {soccer} league in England, which has little to do with Sherlock, Mycroft or the things my chaps get up to, but as i enjoy football {soccer} a lot, and liked the First Time For Everything-pun, i decided to go with it as a title_

_btw: own nothing, just owe Messrs Moffat & Gatiss the world for creating {and playing} the new loves of my life..._ *

* * *

**1. as first times go...**

My life has seen many first times. Over the half-century that I've been on this planet, I've lost count, but there's one that will stay with me as the one that Changed My Life… Sounds nice and dramatic, doesn't it? Well, it was… Let me take you back to those days… I do, quite often…

It's quite fascinating to see Mycroft Holmes deal with personnel, how efficient yet gracious he is then. Well, as he is with most people that aren't his brother, his brother's lover, or his own lover, for that matter… If his lover it is what I am now, of course, not sure what stage we're at, seen as we've only just started 'proceedings' in that area minutes ago in the back of his chauffeured car. Said driver is now being told to have some time off, drive back to his house, and wait for further instructions. I wait on the pavement outside my flat, and see Mycroft come back to me, and I move to walk to the steps of the building where my flat is. He's very discreet, there's no indication that he's anything but an official looking friend of mine, coming round for whatever official looking friends come by to do. I open the big front door, which creaks a little, and we step into the hall, which has a big staircase to the left, and another door on the right, leading to the ground floor flat, where Mr Gardner lives. Mine is on the first floor, but before we start climbing the stairs, I feel an urge to touch the man I've just been extensively kissed by, to put my arms around him, and so turn to him.

'Just need to do this for a minute,' I tell Mycroft, who's looking a bit confused, but allows me to slide my hands inside his big coat, go underneath his jacket, and as I want to go further inside, I feel I'm stemmed in my flow by his waistcoat, which is buttoned up and makes him closed off for now. I press myself against him, feel his body warm and pleasant against mine, nuzzle my face in his delightfully scented neck, and his arms fold around me, as he replicates my moves, and I feel a kind of strange joy take me over. I pull back a bit, try to catch his eyes, and see him smile at me, then move in to put his lips on mine again, and we share a long, languid kiss, his arms still around me, keeping me close to him, and I move my hands down a bit, along his back, right down to his butt, which I've been wanting to get to know better. It feels lovely and taut, as I hoped it would, and as I squeeze it, I feel he makes an involuntary move against my crotch, and things start to heat up a bit too much for the place that we're in.

The door of the ground floor flat opens up, and I hear Mr Gardner come out brashly, then react to what he sees in front of him.

'Oh, sorry, I um… sorry…' he goes quite beetroot red and I feel Mycroft bury his head in my neck, sniggering quietly. 'I thought that… The front door opened, but no one went up the stairs so I thought… carry on… Sorry…' and he quickly closes the door.

'Ah… Okay…' I try to lessen the tension that now hangs in the hallway, but Mycroft just smiles and gives me a quick kiss.

'Let's just go up before anybody else gets confused,' he says and points his hand towards the stairs to indicate that he wants me to lead the way.

'Oh, thank you, sir,' I say teasingly, and make my way up quickly to open the door to my place, which is as messy as I left it that morning. I'm normally fairly tidy, but I needed to find something in one of the many boxes that came back from the house I left behind when I broke up with Louise, my ex-wife, and at 7 this morning I didn't feel like clearing it all back up again. Never in a million years did I think I would be bringing Mycroft Holmes back here… Obviously…

'Nice place you have, Gregory,' he says with a mischievous smile on his face. He looks around to see if there's anywhere for his coat and umbrella to go, then decides that the functional looking rack on the wall, which is now filled with bags and a baseball cap, is probably it, and moves to put his things there. I quickly offer to take them, and hang the coat neatly on a hanger that hangs lonely on the hooks, and put his umbrella next to the chair underneath. We move to go to the sitting room/dining area/office, where the sofa is thankfully not strewn with clothes, as it can be after I've done a laundrette visit, once in a while.

'Do you want a drink first?' I ask him as I make a move towards the kitchen, hoping he'll decline and we can carry on with our pleasant frolics from the hallway, a minute earlier. No such luck, though…

'Um, yeah… Please… That'd be lovely…' he smiles. I see that he's a tad tense, as if he wants to make something clear, but doesn't know how to broach the thing he's keen to share with me.

'What is it?' I ask in a bid to be helpful.

'It can wait, my dear, a cup of tea would be great… I haven't drunk anything since I came back from the airport, three hours ago. It was all a bit of a muddle, with hordes of tourists coming back from their breaks,' he smiles, trying to hide his disregard for the plebs he's had to mingle with.

'You want something to eat?' presuming that didn't happen either in the past couple of hours.

'God, you can read my mind… I'd love something… What did you have in mind?'

Do I get the feeling that he's hedging here?

"Cheese toasty? Ham sandwich? Peanut butter? Chicken?'

'Is marmalade on toast an option here?' he asks hopeful.

'Yeah, I think I can manage that…' I say and I get to work to supply food and beverages for my guest, who's looking rather drained as he's resting against the back of my sofa. (Mycroft Holmes is on my sofa!? Last week this would've appeared an impossible concept, something I didn't even dare dream about… I almost pinch myself…). I'm feeling both excited and somewhat protective towards him, suddenly.

He has a faraway look as he notices my coming into the room with a tray full of stuff. His cup of tea, my coffee, his toast and a packet of biscuits. I place it on the coffee table (shoving the magazines and the remote control on the floor to make room), then pass the teacup to the man I'd rather be climbing on top of, instead of catering for.

'Oh, lovely, thanks, my sweet.' His smile is dazzling. 'I needed that…' He's sighing, as if he's bracing himself for the next thing, 'I know this probably sounds daft to you, the way we've been at it only a short while ago, but do you mind if we just sit here and chat for a while… I'm worn-out from the past week, and to be honest, I've not really been in this situation… For a long time…' His face is a picture of timidity, almost, as he's trying to convey to me the state of his inner turmoil. What does he mean with that?

'I see you're confused… Let me explain. Um… You are the first in many years to have returned my advances… The first man that I've found myself falling in love with, I mean… There have been a few who'd be involved with me, for whatever reason, but never anyone whom I've had feelings for. So now that you have, now that you appear to feel the same for me…'

'Not just _appear_, Mr Holmes…' I butt in.

'Oh good… But still, I'm a little overwhelmed by my feelings right now, Gregory, and instead of it all going too fast, I would like to savour it slightly, if you don't mind… Is that okay with you?'

I'm a bit baffled to be fair, but I also understand what he means, and I suppose he's right. I'd love to leap into bed with him, have my wicked way, or for him to with me, as my body is indicating its intense desire to … Good thing I'm not 17 anymore, as this would've been impossible… Being nearly fifty has its advantages, after all…

I take his hand, and lace my fingers through his, then lift it up to put my lips to his, being pretty much lost for words.

'However long you need…' I pull him towards me and feel his head fall onto my shoulder, and a soft 'Thank you' being murmured into my ear.

From the moment I stepped into his car, half an hour earlier, and I figured that he wasn't Anthea, I felt my world was being flipped upside down, and back up again, like a tornado had lifted me up and thrown me down again, and although it was very nice – him kissing me so suddenly, there on that backseat, with his driver having a sneaky peak in the rear view mirror, was a shock, but a very welcome one – it was quite unexpected. Well, there had been slight indications that this was on the cards – the way he'd touch my hand when we were talking in the restaurant, or his knee would graze mine, cautiously, the way he'd be gazing at me when I was talking, or when I was on the phone to the office, dealing with an 'emergency' that one of my sergeants appeared incapable of dealing with, or the way he'd lean into me when we walked to the car, as if he wanted to touch me but felt too well-mannered to do so. It felt funny, to know I was being wanted like that, to have someone like him, someone as sophisticated and aristocratic as he appeared to me, hanker for me (little old me!), but also a bit uncanny…

It had been so long that I had been with a man in that way, that I thought I'd forgotten the 'rules'… But more than that, I felt I wanted him to take the initiative, to claim me, and when he did, after we hadn't seen or spoken to each other for two weeks, I thought all my Christmases had come at once…

We sat on the sofa for a while, and I'd put some soft music on, and we talked about our lives, about how much we hated Christmas and New Year, and it did feel so nice… So totally, wonderfully nice… Holding Mycroft Holmes in my arms…

'May I ask when _was_ the last time your feelings were answered?' I ask him, while he's playing with the buttons on my shirt, stroking the skin of my stomach with his index finger.

'Do you really want to know that? Of all the things you could be asking me… Not if I ever got on with my father, or where I went to school, or why Sherlock and I are always at loggerheads? You want to know about my sad, non-existent love-life…' he moves to sit up a bit more, and looks at me with questioning eyes. Obviously not a subject he's happy to broach…

'It's alright, you don't have to go there if you don't want to… I was just wondering, you don't quite seem as cerebral as your brother, you seem to be to me more likely to have had a relationship, so when you said that I've been the first in a long time to respond to your affections, someone that you've taken a shine to, as you said, I was surprised…'

He smiles that sweet, attractive smile of his, although this version is the reserved one that he tends to use in company he's not very comfortable in.

'I've been in a relationship, indeed. For a few years, with a senior in the department that I worked in then, when I was in my late twenties. He died, well, killed himself, when it came out that he had a thing with a minor member of staff and that he would get himself into lots of trouble. I was heartbroken for months, and shut myself off from love, so to speak. I didn't want to get hurt again, to feel the pain from back then, and fell for guys that were unattainable – married ones, mainly – and just had flings' (which he pronounced as if it was a nasty stain) 'with ones that I'd never in my life would commit to…'

'Oh,' I said to that. Felt a bit of a bastard, really. But I also felt it was something worth knowing about – if we were to have a relationship, a proper one, I'd need to know about his past, the things he's been hurt by, even just to not have it happen to him again… Anything to not hurt this man… I probably would never really know the depths of his pain or sadness, or what he was trying to hide by appearing overly confident, but to come a little bit closer was very nice.

'So, when I met you, when Sherlock introduced me to you, I was cautious, especially when I felt my heart skip about seven beats, when I looked in your eyes, when you shook my hand, touching you, it was like electricity coursing through me… I was scared, petrified… That I might fall in love with you, and get hurt again. And the strangest thing was that having my brother become involved with John Watson, last year, opened my eyes to the possibility, if even very vaguely, of happiness being within reach, although you were still married, and not showing in any way that you were interested in me, other than on a professional basis…'

'Well, you must've been delighted when you heard that my marriage had crashed…' I smile at him.

'I suppose I was a tiny bit happy, yes… Does that make me a horrid person?' he smiles back.

And then his phone rings…

Of all the timing, this is the pits, as I'm sure I could see Mycroft lean in for another kiss, or maybe that really was what I _wanted_ to happen. Not sure. Thing is that the moment is ruined, as he looks on the display of his phone, probably sees that it's work, contemplates answering, then presses the thing off, and puts it back in his jacket pocket, which he's draped over the back of the sofa.

'Not important,' he declares. 'You are, though…'

I smile, and feel myself going red, something that hasn't happened since secondary school, and he takes my hand. Then the phone plays it's annoying tune once more, and I know that whoever is calling him is not going to take no for an answer, and I can see he's in a quandary, a tough one, by the look in his eyes.

He answers. I leave the room to tidy up a bit, to give him some privacy (and hide my disappointment) and after a bit he comes to find me, state the inevitable news that he has to leave me.

'I'm really, really sorry, but if I don't lots of people are going to be in lots of trouble…'

I nod, cos I know that he's right – I've been in situations like that, knowing I'd rather stay, yet knowing that if I do, the results will be devastating, and I can see the sorrow in his face…

I walk with him down the stairs to the front door, where I dawdle, and he shows even less enthusiasm to go to the car that's waiting for him outside, so I move towards him to kiss him goodbye, and I feel him embrace me, with an eagerness that I remember from not so long ago… We stand there like that, kissing and putting off the inevitable, until one of us is taken over by reality.

'I'll ring you when I know some more, okay?' he says, and opens the door. 'Okay?'

I nod, and smile, and against everything I feel there I say, with as much affection as I can put into the words: 'You do what you need to do…' and watch him step into the car, answer his wave, and sigh deeply…


	2. another first

**2. another first…**

On the whole i tend to avoid falling asleep on the sofa.

Mycroft called me twice that evening, first after an hour, reassuring me that he wouldn't be long, then again, another hour later, saying that he'd be leaving for Brussels to sort out something he wasn't allowed to disclose and would be back in the afternoon, or so he hoped. I carried on sitting on the sofa, watching mind-numbing telly, sorted out my emails, then saw a repeat of a talk show that had some mildly amusing guests on, after that proceeded to fall asleep with the tv quietly on in the background.

So I find myself waking up on that sofa, using one of the cushions as a pillow, and my old tartan rug for a duvet. Somewhere in the back of my mind are snippets of what happened last night, silent longing for a body next to mine, and quiet acceptance of things the way they are. Thus begins a Saturday that I usually quite enjoy. Far too often I'll be at work, so whenever I'm at home, I have time to leisurely sort out my stuff, get shopping, do my laundry, read the paper, so when I've had a cup of tea, I slip into the routine of Usual, and I'm off to get bread in the small bakers, which is filled with early risers who want to get something decent to eat, and I treat myself to a coffee and a croissant there, as the cafe is very pleasant, although I'd much rather have a certain person's company right now…

I know that instinctively I've been suppressing the disappointment I feel for the way things have gone with Mycroft the night before, how much I'd wanted for things to have gone differently, that I'd wished he had stayed, that I'd woken up next to him, holding him, or him touch me, but it wasn't to be, and maybe it was good in a weird way: this probably wouldn't be the last time that we'd get interrupted, were this to become something 'regular'… It goes with the lives we live … Would I have it any other way? Probably not… Might as well get used to it now…

After I finish in the caf, I go to the chemists, to pick up some headache tablets and shampoo, and a present for my sister, whose birthday it is later in the week. There it's fairly busy too, but I don't see anybody that I know (not that I'm madly familiar with my neighbours, despite it being the kind of neighbourhood that it could happen in, as most houses and flats are privately owned and situated in a quiet road), so I have a discreet browse. Then I notice that I've wandered into the section that is to my shock now called the Condoms & Sexual Health Section (what's happened to this shop in the last 10 years?!) and try not to blush when I discover the wide range of things on offer… Garish colours, a variety of amounts and types; I'm lost for choice here… Maybe I should pick something up, just in case… But what to go for?!

'Hello Mr Lestrade,' I hear next to me, and turn my head to see Mr Gardner grinning at me, with Kyoko, his Japanese girlfriend standing next to him, looking slightly embarrassed. 'Out shopping are we?'

'Um, yeah, looks like it… Needed a present for my sister…' I grin back, trying to look cool. I don't know my downstairs neighbour that well, but after last night I'm keen to regain some standing, and immediately realise that I've just made the wrong remark to achieve this… 'Well, not here, obviously… I'm just…'

'Ah, for the boyfriend, then… Apologies once more for my intrusion last night… I was just saying to Kyoko, how awkward I felt, barging in on you and your… date…'

'He's not my boyfriend… Yet…'

'Well, you shouldn't feel ashamed about this, I mean we live in the twenty-first century now, after all, don't we, Kyoko?' he beams at his girlfriend, who's looking more and more uncomfortable as the seconds crawl by. I smile at her, but I don't think I can do much to take away her uneasiness, as I appear to be the cause of it, and the place where we stand isn't exactly helping. 'It takes all sorts these days, doesn't it…'

'Well, as I said, busy, and all that…' I try as a parting shot, and it seems to have done the trick. Mr Gardner and Kyoko say goodbye and wander off to the soaps section, and I detour to the gifts part of the shop, vowing to visit a completely different chemist in another part of town, if at all possible, later on today. Or maybe I should just leave it, not assume that I will be needing anything for the time being… What with tempting fate…

When I get back to my flat with a few bags full of groceries I switch the radio on, as I do always, since I moved in here four months ago after having left my wife. We had a messy divorce, one complete with shouting and blame and scenes that would look good in a soap opera, after a few years of neglect on my part, adultery on hers, inattentiveness from me when her father passed away (he never liked me, and that rubbed off…), spitefulness from her when she was trying to hide her sadness… Great cocktail that was… I moved out in the autumn, found this place close to the Yard, and was just happy with the silence, the peace, the fact that it was mine… And nobody moaned about the music…

'Bleep-bleep,' says my phone in a bid for attention. I take it out of my jacket pocket and press on the little envelope that's appeared on the screen. Then I notice that there's a number 4 next to it, so I must have missed some notifications while I was out.

_- Can you call me now, please…_ - Sherlock

_- Not sure, but it seems that the freak has something on the case with Drew Ingram. Ignore_? – Sally Donovan

_- Found something that might explain why the girl choked. Call me asap_ - Sherlock

_- Should be back around 5. Are you in tonight? Missing you already… X _– Mycroft

The first three messages tweak my curiosity, and I know I should answer them, but the text from Mycroft grabs my attention and give me butterflies. I notice also that his was sent two hours ago… I press reply.

_Missing you too. Boring here. Am in tonight, do you want to have dinner somewhere?_

Of course I hope he will reply straight away, but this doesn't happen, so I answer the other texts. Not really in the mood to deal with the case of the murdered schoolgirl, but what Sherlock has found could put an end to weeks of speculation and doubt.

To Sgt Donovan: _will ring Sherlock in a bit, find out what he's got, report soon_

Then I ring Sherlock, hoping this can be dealt with quickly.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Sherlock is sat in his chair by the fire, with his fingers steepled under his chin, clearly in thinking mode, when John Watson lets me into their flat.

'He's been like this for the past two hours… He said he had a clue that would lead us to the killer of that girl, what's her name…' John whispers, as he takes me through to the kitchen.

"Drew Ingram,' I answer while keeping an eye on his boyfriend.

'Yeah, that's it, but I haven't been able to get anything out of him since he sent you that text. Which he got me to type, by the way… Honestly… The things I do here…' John gives me the 'if he wasn't so gorgeous, I'd have clocked him one ages ago'-look, and I feel pangs of sympathy for the man… We smile in an understanding way, glance at Sherlock again and I try to get some sort of contact with him. Not feeling very sure of myself, but doing my level best to hide that.

'Sherlock? Can you tell me what you found? Please?'

Nothing… He doesn't as much as flinch when I talk to him.

'I do have a life, you know… Nothing spectacular, but I quite like it, and if you're done here, I would love to return to it… So if you don't mind…'

Which gets the same reply… John hands me a cup of tea, and I go to stand by the window, to have a look out on the street, which is crowded with Saturday shoppers and tourists. Taxis whizz through the traffic, big red busses chug along, the odd bike weaves its way through everything else. I would really like to join all that, walk back to my flat, hopefully in time to catch Mycroft to… Well, what exactly? No idea yet… Just being with him is enough…

"Three…' I suddenly hear from Sherlock. I turn to look at him, hoping that what he just said would make any more sense. But it doesn't…

'Three what?'

'When the girl was killed, there were three people there… One to hold her, one to do her in, poor thing, and one to text to the father… You're looking for three men. All white, all in some way related to her, she knew them well enough to trust them, so you're looking within the family, maybe on the stepmother's side. Maybe even with the stepmother knowing… The father loved the girl, too much in his wife's eyes, so she had to get rid of her competition… Simple really… Jealousy, just like most of them… Pass me the biscuits, John…'

I feel myself frown at the simplicity of the logic I'm presented with… I had thought of that lead too, in the beginning, but somehow left the stepmother out of the equation, thinking it impossible for the woman to do anything like this, but I don't possess the skill that my 'consulting detective' appears to have in heaps – cold distance… I wonder how Dr Watson gets him to be intimate with him…

Actually, skip that…

'Oh, okay, thanks for that… I'll tell Sgt Donovan to investigate that then… Do you…'

'Not Donovan! Do you want this to go tits up? Get someone with some kind of brain capacity, Lestrade… Jesus…' Sherlock seems quite peeved.

'Well, actually, I don't have an endless pool of people to choose form, Sherlock, and I'm quite impressed with Donovan's work lately, to be honest… She seems to get the…'

'Oh, please, spare me your dull theories, Detective Inspector…' he says in a way that has disdain dripping from each word, so I give him a withering look, roll my eyes at John to show him I'm done with his boyfriend's self-importance for today, share another smile, and he walks me to the door.

'Sorry about that, he seems even more oblique than usual… Hope it'll get this case sorted now… Might make him a bit more cuddly, if nothing else…' he smiles.

'Hope so for you… I'll see myself out. Thanks for the tea!'

When I leave the flat it's just gone four o'clock.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The knock on the door of my flat comes unexpected. I have no idea who it could be, as no one I know has the key to the front door. Maybe it's Mr Gardner, with some tips on how to conduct my new relationship. That would be great…

After getting back and talking to Sgt Donovan, I've been staring out of the window, mainly. I had three cups of tea, some salad, rang my sister to discuss the state of things with our mother, then I felt myself getting more and more nervous about Mycroft's impending phone call, where he'd tell me that he was sorry, but had to go off to some place in China to deal with stupid English tourists...

I open the door with fast growing trepidation, bracing myself for my downstairs neighbour's shiny face, and find I'm ready to fend him off with my best glare.

'Yes…' I begin to say then stop as I see the form and clothing of a man that has no shiny face, but a sweet smile, and a plastic carrier bag in his hand.

'Hello my dear… Were you expecting someone else?' he smiles.

'Oh! Hi there, so nice to see you again… Yeah, I thought that you were Mr Gardner from… Never mind, come in, quickly…' when I step aside to let Mycroft in, he leans in for a kiss. Just a friendly one on the lips, as if that's what we have been doing for years. It feels nice, and very familiar. The butterflies are definitely back…

I then smell that the carrier bag has food in it – Chinese, he tells me – and I show him to the kitchen.

'Thought you might be hungry… I am… And I really didn't fancy going to a restaurant now, no matter how exclusive… This is from a classy Chinese place I know near my house, which I hardly ever frequent, but I just really fancied something simple and easy to bring home… Um, to your flat… Is this okay with you?' he looks at me a little unsure, including that smile that gets me weak at the knees, and I nod that I'm fine with this.

I get some plates out, and cutlery, then clear space on the table, find a bottle with half decent organic wine and offer this to Mycroft, who has taken his coat off and placed the bag on the worktop. He nods his approval, then takes the bottle from my hand and places it next to the food, and pulls me towards him, in a lovely embrace. I ease myself onto his body, and then feel his lips on mine, warm and luscious, and the room fades into a haze, induced by the intoxicating things his tongue starts doing with mine. His arms are wrapped around me, and I've draped mine around his shoulders, making sure he's so close to me that escape is impossible. Not that he seems to be going anywhere, intrigued as he is with my mouth…

I don't want this to end, and deepen the kiss, hearing moans from the man in my arms that do weird things to my libido. God, this is so wonderful…

Reluctantly we end the kiss. The meal Mycroft brought along is beckoning, though it's a very close call… _Very_ close…

'Bleep-bleep,' goes my phone, as a very annoying intruder. We utter a simultaneous sigh of exasperation, and I make an uncharacteristic decision: I switch my phone off… I don't even look to see who it is, assuming it's either work or my guests little brother, or even my sister, and all of those are incredibly far removed from the list of things I want to do right now. The list that has two items on it…

'You sure you don't want to take that?' Mycroft looks at me a bit incredulous, as well as impressed.

'Nope… I want to spend this time with you, not sorting out stuff that can wait until tomorrow… We've been interrupted enough, I feel…' I tell him with a cheesy grin on my face. Don't really care if it sounds tacky, cos it's exactly what I feel – bloody work… I mean, I love it, and wouldn't want any other career, but on occasions like this I wished I was an accountant, or a mechanic, or something else that wouldn't have me break off dates or rush through nocturnal activities…

The smile I receive from my date is breath-taking. He takes a spring roll from my plate and puts it to my mouth, and when I take a bite he smiles, and he puts his hand on mine, squeezing it tenderly. He gets his own phone from his jacket and replicates what I did a minute earlier. His phone plays a tune, indicating that no one wants to know it for now, and another breath-taking smile adorns his face.

We get on with the meal in relative peace, Mycroft fills me in on the bits about his trip that he is allowed to tell me, some red-tape stuff that is hilarious in its obviousness, mainly because Mycroft has such a delightful way of disclosing it to me ('Honestly, Gregory, if I had to listen to the man blathering on about the way his expenses were paid for one minute longer, I promise you would be attending my funeral in a few days, or read about _his_ in the newspapers…'), and half an hour later we push empty plates to the side, finish our wine and he takes my hand and tugs it gently, making it clear he wants us to move to the sofa. I allow him to pull me up, move with him to go and sit down, and snuggle up into his arms, and we just sit there for a while, with him stroking my hair, me fiddling with the watch strap on his left arm, teasing my finger under his cuff, willing to go a lot further, but feel slightly worried that I'm going too fast his liking.

'My assignment today,' Mycroft starts with a soft voice, like he's reluctant to spoil the almost sacred peace that had wrapped around the two of us, 'was the most tedious I've experienced in a long time. All I could think of was you and this flat, and the marmalade toast that was the best I've had in a long time, and the bedroom that I still haven't seen… My job suddenly seemed so meaningless, so unimportant, if it meant that I was going to miss out on doing this, with you…'

He moves around so that I can see his face, see the urgency in his eyes, that he needs to express feelings that he's been keeping a check on for long enough.

'Same here,' I reply, smiling. 'Maybe we should apply for some time off… Perhaps there's a clause in our job descriptions with regards to beginning relationships… _Employee should be given sufficient time off in order to get to know prospective partners, if deemed to be satisfactorily serious in eyes of both employer and employee… _What do you think…?'

Mycroft smiles at me and then looks down onto his lap as if he's suddenly shy.

'Do you deem us satisfactorily serious?' His voice sounds timid, quite unlike the confident man I see in action when in his company.

'I certainly do, Mycroft Holmes…' I say, and then move to kiss him with such intensity that it would take a great cynic to question the feelings I have for this man. My lips touch his, and I feel him relax, as he surrenders to my touch, my claiming of his mouth and his body, and Jesus I wish to feel more of him as soon as possible… In a smooth move I go on to sit on his lap, towering over him a little, carry on tasting his lips, nipping them, feeling his tongue lick my mouth, move on to my lips, and my groin, which has been making its presence clear to me all the time Mycroft has been in the flat, is telling me that this is business.

I start to unbutton his waistcoat, which he lets me readily, and then I move on to take off his tie, and his shirt, and he takes over, never letting go of my mouth, he keeps the kiss going, only to interrupt it when I want to lift the undershirt he's wearing over his head. His breathing has gone heavy, as has mine, but I'm too preoccupied with taking my own clothes off, which goes very well, and within seconds I'm touching his uncovered shoulders, his bare arms, the skin of his chest, and feel that he does the same to me. How very wonderful it feels too… To get this close to this beautiful man… His breathing becomes low groaning, and I know we're going to have to take this to the bedroom, or the sofa will be the place where I have my First Time with the man I never thought would want to do exactly this with me… Oh God, this is so nice, so bloody wonderful…

I get up to encourage Mycroft to come to the bedroom with me, and thankfully he responds quickly. He appears as reluctant as I am to break our fervent kissing. I take his hand and we almost run to my bed, take off our trousers and whatever is left with the speed of sound, then sink onto my unmade, abandoned bed.

Hovering over his body, I look at the gorgeous forms of the man underneath me, taking some time to relish it, to revel in this situation for a moment, and then lower myself onto him, feel his naked, soft skin on mine, kissing him, touching him everywhere I can get to, getting turned on even more by the deep groans that escape my lover's mouth. He is enjoying this every bit as much as I am, makes this clear by the responses I register through my randy haze. Oh God, Jesus, fuck… This will not be a very pretty first time, I'm sure, as I feel it's becoming quite impossible to hang on for much longer… I feel myself getting so incredibly aroused, so bloody hard and feel Mycroft's similar state, as he moves underneath me, with me, on me, holds on to me, and oh, bloody hell, oh, he's so close to come undone, if the sounds he makes are anything to go by… Fuck… Oh bloody fuck…

'Oh Gregory, I love you!'

Oh, fuuuu…ck… Oh… Aaahh…

…

Oh…

God…

…

The silence is so quiet now…

All I hear is my love next to me, breathing like he's run a marathon, sweating like he's run it twice, and smiling like he's gone mad… How delicious indeed… God… Oh, that was so brilliant, even though it lasted nowhere near as long as I'd have liked, but hey, we can work on that, surely…

'If I could talk, I'd tell you how happy I am now…' Mycroft pants with that mad smile on his face. I smile back, and move to kiss him once more, and smell sweat and sex and his aftershave all in one and I can't begin to describe what I'm feeling. Happy doesn't begin to cover it…

'Yeah…' I breathe with similar difficulty, and close my eyes for a minute, and feel myself drifting off while my arm is being gently stroked. If dreams are made of this, I want to be asleep forever…


	3. love, interrupted

**3. love, interrupted...**

If anyone had told me, a few years ago when we first met, that I'd be delighted to wake up next to him, happy in the embrace, to hear him breathe slowly, that Mycroft Holmes proved to be a passionate lover, I'd have laughed. I'd have laughed so much that I'd have to be carted off to hospital, in painful stitches. _Idiot_ I would've called them, ludicrous, barmy, off their trolleys, daft as a shop full of brushes…

Yet, here I am…

We spend a wonderful day together after that first night, with me feeling the need to pinch myself every now and then. To make sure this is all really happening, that he is in my bed that morning, sleeping, and while doing so looking delightful. He's not the most athletic guy, not very muscly, but lean, in a way guys are that don't do much sports… He really is a bookish type, academic in all ways. I can't imagine him in sweatpants, in a gym or whatever… It seems preposterous… So not his style…

It makes me smile when I walk in with a tray full of breakfast stuff and I see him lying there, so peaceful and happy, innocent and relaxed, draped on the bed sheets like he's modelling for a painting, and I just sit on the side of the bed with the tray on my lap, then move the thing on the floor to free my hands up, and sip my tea, while watching Mycroft open his eyes and starting to remember where he is. A smile appears on his face and it reminds me of places changing moods as soon as the sun comes out.

'Hello, my sweet,' I beam at him, as I lean in for a kiss.

'Hmmm…' he groans. 'Ooh… Lovely way to wake up, thank you…'

'We can keep that one in if you want… Here's some tea for you, if you're ready.' I hand him the cup, my Arsenal FC mug, which he accepts while looking at it with a curious gaze. I snigger at his ignorance to parts of common culture that are so normal to me…

'So, who do you support then?' I ask him, feigning significance on the matter. His reaction is a snort. He snorts!

'I can't say I've given this much thought, my dear… Couldn't tell you one team from another… Is Chelsea one? I've seen Jeffrey, my driver, with the Evening Standard a couple of times and that… um, paper appears obsessed with them. I'm more of an opera man, myself… Something you care much about?' which makes it my turn to snort. 'I'll take that as a 'no', then…'

He smiles at me, sweetly, then plants his lips on mine. 'Philistine…'

'I'll dare you then… You come to a match with me, and I'll come to an opera with you… I'm sure I can sit one out…'

I see him look very pensively at me, pained, even. Poor thing…

'Um… Well, if it means that much to you… Let me think about it, okay?'

'Chicken…'

'I am not a chicken, Gregory Lestrade, let me get that straight… I just… Oh, fine, I'll go and see a blasted football match with you…'

'I was only kidding… You don't have to if it makes you feel this annoyed already… Do you have any plans for today? I don't… Oh shit… I never looked on my phone to see who rang last night… I'll just… Or maybe...' I seem to be rattling out this stream of consciousness when I give in to the need to move into the bed with my lover, who's been looking at me in slight concern. Mycroft pulls me closer to him and puts his warm lips on mine, as we lie there, facing each other, eyes closed to ensure utmost pleasure in touching each other, his fingers stroking my face, mine holding his side, and we slide into a kind of subconscious state of bliss…

The desire to kiss this man has been around for quite a while, really, when I think about it… Preceded of course by a desire to just get to know him better, earlier the previous year. Having gotten to know him as the stuck up older brother of Sherlock, he captured my imagination, brought back memories from my teenage, when I found myself lusting after a guy form my year who showed absolutely no interest in me, other than taking the piss with his toff pals back in grammar school. The unpleasant memories got in the way of seeing this fellow on a different level, at first, and it wouldn't have taken much for me to decide that there was no way I was going to let him get me under his spell. And how annoying that would've been…

When he invited me for a coffee, after a case that involved some of his former members of staff who were found strangled shortly after each other, I first felt a bit odd. I had noticed his interest in me before – I'm still fairly clued up on people being drawn to me: it does still happen, even though I'm ancient - but I ignored it out of a combination of politeness and inhibition, and plain disbelief… Put it down to professionalism. So when he invited me for coffee I accepted, out of courtesy, and didn't really think much of it. Until I noticed how nice company he was.

The meetings became weekly, and we'd catch up on each other's lives. He made me laugh, and I him. I giggled like a schoolgirl, and so did he. His face would light up, and that gave him an appeal that I was finding myself being less and less capable of withstanding, and every so often he would touch my hand, just out of habit, to put me at ease, or illustrate a closeness he was feeling, and those touches were beginning to feel like fireworks… Louise, whom I'd split up with while i was getting to know Mycroft, and I hadn't touched like that for god knows how long… His flirting became so obvious, you'd have to be a brick wall not to notice… And mine was becoming embarrassing… But neither of us had the bottle to take it any further than the pleasant evenings that our 'coffee' had developed into…

Until Christmas came, and we had to postpone our little meeting for a week. And then another…

I was feeling desperate, so came the new year, I sent him a text, in which I told him I needed to see him (displaying unusual vulnerability…), soon, and received one back where he echoed my feelings. Only he was abroad and I had to wait three more days, and when the day came, and he had a car come around to the Yard to have me picked up, I was fully expecting him to cancel, to be telling me he had to go on yet another trip, but he didn't… He was there in the back of the car, and he gave me that look of utter joy, greeted me warmly and leaned in for a blistering kiss… God, he was delightful…

Much like right now, when I feel his hand on my face, gently holding it, as his lips meet mine with much vigour. Soft, and wet, and warm… His tongue is now joining in, asking for access, which I gladly grant it, and oh, this is going to get so lovely again… That tea will have to wait for a bit longer, I'm guessing…

Quite a bit later, when he's lying in my arms, breathing heavily and twining his fingers with mine, we're woken out of our delightful state of bliss by a knock on the door.

A groan escapes my love, a different one than he uttered a few moments before.

'We could just ignore it…' I opt, hopeful.

'Yeah, let's…' he agrees.

Woaw… Progress… Mycroft Holmes willing to forgo duty…

We carry on dozing and enjoying the feeling of our bodies together. But it seems our visitor will not be deterred by us ignoring their presence. More knocking, and a voice shouting my name. A woman's voice, and I'm sure it's my sister.

"Greg! Greg? Are you there? Come one, open up…'

Fuck… This is something I could do without…

'You'd better go and see her,' Mycroft whispers, mood gone out the window.

I nod, bothered, and heave myself up from the embrace I was so enjoying, off to find some clothes that are mine, on the floor. My jeans are still in same position as they were casually dropped the evening before, quite close to Mycroft's tailored trousers, now not looking quite so refined as when he was wearing them, half a day ago. I have to find a t-shirt in the chest of drawers, as I remember he's taken my other one off when I parked myself on his lap last night…

Oh god, these thoughts aren't helping, really. I shout towards the door that I'll be there in a bit, but need to find bucket loads of restraint not to abandon this mission and leap back into bed with my lover…

Dressed – or whatever – I approach the door, open it to see Nathalie, my sister, and Denise, her youngest, leaning against the wall of the stairwell, bored (Denise) and amused (my sister).

'You took your time… Hidden your bimbo, have you?' Nathalie asks with a cheeky grin. She moves to let herself into my flat.

'How did you… Why are you here?' I ask to bide myself some time. Not sure what to do about Mycroft, really. I'm not ready to do the 'oh by the way, I'm gay' speech with her yet, not with my niece in tow…

'You weren't picking up your phone, and I needed to be in town anyway, looking at colleges with Denise – yes, on Sundays…' she glares at her dim little brother, 'and you weren't at work, and mum was getting kind of worried, seen as you haven't answered her calls either, yesterday evening – she had a slight scare with dad being not so well again… Anyway, can we come in please… I'm dying for a cuppa…' and before I can persuade her to change her mind, she's let herself into the hallway and walks on into the kitchen. The bedroom door is thankfully only slightly open.

I have no idea what to do…

'Come in,' I say sarcastically, while making a dramatic entrée-movement. What do I say to Mycroft? Why am I not telling my sister to fuck off…? 'Could you just excuse me for a moment, Nat. There's something…'

'Oh, course, your bimbo…'

Bimbo… Hardly…

I walk off to the bedroom, where I see Mycroft sitting up in my bed (oh!) reading the messages on his phone (where was he hiding that?!) and giving me a sweet look.

'Family matters? Shall I go? Maybe that's better… I shall…'

'No you won't… I'll tell my sister to leave, just give me a moment… Please, Mycroft…' I try my best not to sound desperate, though I'm feeling something resembling that very closely.

'But Anthea tells me… And you have something more pressing to deal with…'

'No I don't… Nobody's dying, I'll deal with this, just give me a minute… I don't want to wait another week to be able to see you again… Just… Please…' I kneel onto the bed to kiss him, a hopefully sure-fire way to convince him of my wishes.

He smiles at me again, and nods, then puts his phone away, and looks suddenly quite horrified, as he glances over my shoulder. No!

I look around and see my sister in the doorway, giving me the look she always gives me, since we were little, and she, being the oldest, had felt some natural obligation to show me my place.

'Ah, not a bimbo then… Unless… Greg! You swine! Fancy keeping this from me!' Nathalie swats me on the arm, and then moves to stick her hand out at Mycroft, introducing herself.

I feel so embarrassed right then, though neither Mycroft nor Nat seem very perturbed… But then Mycroft (only covered by my duvet) is ever the diplomat, and Nathalie has seen plenty in her years as a social worker in Southampton.

'How long… Never mind… I see you're busy… You could've told me! Nice to meet you, Mycroft…'

She's not easily shoved out of the bedroom, but I manage, and in the hall I rub my face with both hands. What the hell just happened…?

'I'm so sorry, Greg… I didn't mean to… Is he the reason why you and Louise…?'

Denise, busy with her phone, turns her head our way when she hears the last sentence.

'Uncle Greg! You naughty man… Have yourself a toy boy…'

'No, not really…' I sigh, as I go to open the front door. 'He's not the reason, though I'm sure my feelings for him helped to speed things up… I like him a great deal, no, actually, I think I'm in love, for the first time in donkey's years, and I'd like it if you didn't tell mum just yet. I'll have a word with her in a bit… And no, Denise, he's not my toy boy, he's only a bit younger than me, but he's the best thing that's happened to me in ages, so if you both can deal with that, and give me some space here, I would very much appreciate that, thanks…'

'Ay-ay, sir…' Nat smiles, and does the military hand salute-thingy jokily. 'I shan't keep you any longer… Go see that lovely man of yours… I'll give you a bell later in the week.'

She gives me a kiss on the cheek, and squeezes my arm lightly, as if to say she's given her sisterly seal of approval. I smile at her, and wave as she and Denise leave my flat, then close the door with a feeling of great relief.

To then feel the hand of my neglected lover on my shoulder. He's wearing a pair of boxers, nothing else, and looks beautiful in his vulnerable state.

'In love, are we…?' he presses his mouth on my shoulder, next to his hand, where my shirt ends. 'Best thing that's happened to you… Hmmm...' another kiss, which turns into a lick, as he leans his body into my back, arms around my waist, which feels so warm and wonderful. He carries on licking my skin from my shoulders on to my neck, and I feel myself getting rather flustered. He's managed to lift my t-shirt up as his hands rove my torso, and I allow him to take it off and drop it on the floor. His mouth and lips make wet marks on my goose bumped skin, and I can't help but release a heartfelt groan, from somewhere deep inside of me.

'Oh, Jesus… Mycroft…' I breathe and let my body lean into his, let myself be cherished once more. He moves to stand face to face, his arms deftly following along, keeping me captured in his embrace, and he puts his lips on mine, I put my arms around his neck, wishing to be melted together with this man, this gorgeous man I've found myself falling in love with, some moons ago.

'Well, Detective Inspector,' I hear being breathed into my ear, and that rouses me even more, 'I feel I can honestly say that those are my sentiments exactly…' He lifts his head away from my face slightly, to be able to look into my eyes, and though they almost pierce right through me, a feeling of happiness settles down. 'I think I love you, Gregory Lestrade…'

We don't leave the flat until the next day, when work calls again. Until then we occupy ourselves with far more important stuff…


	4. holmes & away

**4. holmes & away**

The first time i visit Mycroft's house should've been an event I'd loved to have remembered. And in a weird way it is…

The weeks that follow our first weekend, we spend as much time as is possible together, within the parameters of our lives. We go out for the odd meal, we sit on my shabby old sofa, eating take-aways and drink far too expensive wine. We sleep together, we wake together - a kind of pleasant routine settles in, and I notice how enjoyable it is, Mycroft coming over to my place, feeling so at home there, with me, our lives slotting in together without much trouble. Too easy, I sometimes dread… Surely love shouldn't be this easy? Surely there ought to be some sort of battle, some kind of positions wrestled over…? But it seems it really is that easy…

And it isn't long before the outside world starts to notice how happy I am. Laura at reception (or Sgt Finnegan, as I should call her) remarks on my cheerful disposition, is there a new love in my life? I smile at her at first, leave her in suspense, not really ready to 'come out' yet to my co-workers. Not sure why, really, cos I do feel very confident in my skin, have never been ashamed of my ambivalent sexuality, but it's just never been anything that needed addressing, and although I'm pretty sure that most people here have a liberal attitude to it, I'm not ready to take the risk of treading on toes of those with a sensitive disposition… I mean, who needs the hassle…?

I rang my mother later in the week, after my sister's surprise visit. I asked if I could see her before I'd go to see Nathalie for her birthday, knowing that she would be there, making the perilous trip from Dorset all the way to Brighton, where Nat now lives, which mum would love to moan about, but deep down I know she loves to escape my father for a day or so, relishing the freedom. We arrange to meet in a caf near the station, one I know she'd approve of.

'I never understood the appeal of this town, Gregory, so chaotic,' was her opening shot, when I greeted her at the train station, half an hour earlier. I know she's being arch, as she spent plenty of good times here with her sister, when I was younger, but I suppose she needs to show her slight disapproval of Nathalie's choice of town, as she had nothing good to say about Southampton either… I nod quietly, give her that one… I don't agree with her at all – this town has been one I loved to visit in my student days, whenever I needed to see the sea for a bit.

'But I suppose if she likes it, that's fine… Did you have a good trip, dear?' she says, while stirring her coffee. I suggested lunch, but she assumed that that would put Nat's nose out of joint, knowing she'll want to be Super Hostess today.

'Yeah, fine… No diversions or other annoying hold ups… Even work let me go, which makes a nice change…'

'And you haven't got anything else planned then for today? You normally have on Sundays…' She looks at me pointedly. I know she's unhappy about my irregular visits, even though I'm pretty sure she's delighted that Louise isn't in tow any more. The two of them never hit it off.

'Well, there are things I would've done instead, but I love seeing you guys again… Even though it's not been that long… How's dad doing? Is his heart a bit better?'

My mother smiles, then makes her mouth form a 'well, what can I say'-shape. 'He's okay… Tired, but he still potters about, fixing stuff that doesn't need fixing… He's decided that we need new window sills, would you believe it…? So he's busy with that for the time being… I just let him, happy that he's found something to get his teeth into, just as long as he doesn't make too much mess…'

I smile back at her, glad I haven't decided to make the trip to Dorchester instead. I love my father dearly, but we haven't got a great deal to say to each other at the best of times. Christmas was enough to last me for a while…

'Anyway, you said you had something to tell me, before we go to Nathalie's… Out with it, boy…'

Somehow I've forgotten how direct my mother can be sometimes… No nonsense, get on with it… And I feel like I'm sixteen again, about to tell her something horrible, something that will shatter her illusions about me, her dear son, the light of her life… She used to be so disappointed whenever she heard that I'd gotten drunk and puked all over the garage floor, or had my bike stolen, or that I got myself into scrapes at school… As if I shouldn't, because I was her darling…

'You're in love, aren't you?' I hear, suddenly. I find my mother staring at me, intently. 'Is she nice?'

'How do you know that?'

'Well, easy, you look like you want to make an effort for someone… Not just for Nathalie, cos I've seen you at parties with clothes that were shabby and shoes that hadn't seen a polishing brush for years… And now you look… well: handsome… Like you're making an effort. And you're glowing, in that kind of 'I'm in love'-way… So what's her name?'

'Jeez, it's like I'm talking to Sherlock here,' I smile, trying to put her off the scent. She knows him from the stories I've told her about my life in the force, and she liked the sound of him. She likes men with a sharp mind. It bodes well… 'I'm in love, you're right about that… Only not with a woman…'

Looking up to catch her expression, I'm worried. What if she's disappointed, or upset?

She looks at me very attentively, her eyes boring into mine as if she's interrogating a mass murderer.

'You're in love with a _man_?!' loud enough for the rest of the caf to hear. then cringes a bit, 'Oh, oops… Sorry… You're in love with a man? Why? I mean… You're nearly fifty?! I thought people figured that kind of thing out when they were eighteen…'

'Well, actually, when I was eighteen I _was_ in love with a guy too…' I add, feeling emboldened by my earlier declaration, 'Only back then it didn't work out and I felt that being with girls was easier… Although there have been guys, at times, until I got together with Louise…'

Probably not what your mum wants to hear…

'Oh…' is all she could answer.

Then she grabs my hand. 'Who is he… What's he like? Do I know him? Can I meet him? He makes you happy, I can see that…'

'He does, mum… Really happy… He's… Well, he's Sherlock's brother…'

'What, the posh one, the one that gets on your tits? Or does he have another one?'

I smile at her, remembering some of the things I've said about Mycroft before…

'No, it's that same one… He's called Mycroft, and he _is_ very posh, but since I got to know him better, over the past six months, I got to know a different side of him, and that side is incredibly lovely… Mum, you'd love him…'

'Would I? Are you sure? You said that about your ex as well… I'd love her to bits you said, and all I ever wanted was to tell her to leave you alone…'

'I did say that, didn't I? Um… Yeah… Well, maybe you won't like him, but I can't imagine…'

'You'll have to bring him over to Dorchester one time, won't you… We shall see if you're not telling me porkies… Like you did with…'

'… Alright, mum, leave it, will you… I know I got it wrong with Louise… And anyway, it's still early days with Mycroft… I don't think we'll be introducing mums and dads and the whole extended family yet… Although I've known his brother for years now of course, and Nat did say hello to him when… Um… Never mind… Shall we make a move then?' I get up from the table to point out how much of a hurry I was in to see my dearest sister so quickly again.

0o0o0o0o0o0

When I tell Mycroft about my chat with mum he smiles that way he does when something delicate has a chance of going balls-up and he can see the writing on the wall, but appeared glad that I received something of a royal thumbs up. It wasn't until three days later that I get that chance, because he had to go off to Geneva again to rescue a diplomat from a Swiss cheese incident, or whatever (I wasn't paying attention…), and all we did was text naughty stuff to each other, like a couple of schoolboys on heat. ('_can't wait to see you again after the family grilling… want to do some grilling myself…', 'I want to have you on a bed of rice… without the rice'. _ That kind of thing…)

I can't believe how quickly I pine for his company already, how much I need to speak to him after a gruesome day, how much I miss his calming voice, his lips on mine, his body to touch… After two bloody weeks!? God…

We're on the sofa again, watching something silly on telly, after he's back from Switzerland, with an enormous Toblerone bar for me (seriously, the chocolate…) and he's just entwined his hand with mine, rubbing his thumb over the back of my hand, which feels incredibly sensual.

'Missed you…' he says in a voice that betrays his apprehension.

'I know… Missed you too…'

'So, your mum is okay with you… with us…?'

'Yeah, I guess so. She wants to meet you, she said… Sounds like a thumbs up to me… Unless she wants to beat you up, of course…'

Mycroft smiles a tight smile, as if he can clearly imagine such a threat being carried out.

'Well, I'm glad, I think, for you.'

I give him a reassuring kiss, which he seems very glad to receive. I taste a smidgen of tension in his body as I touch him though.

'Want to come over to my place next weekend? I can do you some dinner, or we can just hang out… I sort of want to show you my habitat, so to speak… I mean, I love your flat, and it feels like home already, but I thought…'

'I understand… Yeah, I'd love to see where you live. I sort of have this fantasy that you have a butler and a cook and a cleaner…'

'Um… that's two out of three… I don't actually have a butler, but the other two are spot on… Would that bother you?' Mycroft has moved his face towards me, looking to see my reaction to his Rich Bastard Lifestyle.

'I'm in love with a man who has a bloody cook and a driver… And who has someone tidying up after him every day… God, that sounds like one of my wet dreams… Well, not wet, perhaps, but close…' I laugh out loud. Which I can see in his eyes turns him on. Oh, the delights…

'Yeah, sorry… It comes with the territory, I suppose… I'll get rid of them if that makes you feel more comfortable.' He moves my hand up to his lips and kisses it so gently, it gives me goose bumps.

'Nah, that'll be alright… I'd like to see you in your natural surroundings… See what you're really like…'

o0o0o0o0o0o

The weekend together in his place had to be postponed for a week.

First because I got put on a case that just wouldn't give me time away (that, combined with Sherlock getting seriously stuck in, he just wouldn't let off, getting himself in all sorts of scrapes…) and then Mycroft had to travel to Edinburgh, for stuff he once again wasn't allowed to tell me about.

The third time I was finally on my way to his place, when I received a text form Nathalie, telling me that dad had taken a turn for the worse. Mum had called her in slight despair, so Nat drove out to Bournemouth, where dad had been taken to stay in Intensive Care. I was unsure of what action to take next, so – although quite numb – carried on my taxi trip to Mycroft's house. I rang his doorbell, feeling as if I'd been put inside a vacuum suit, or an igloo (as I would imagine an igloo would sound like), all noise dampened.

'Are you alright?' was the first thing Mycroft says when he's spotted that I'm not at my cheeriest. He smiled, hoping that would put me at ease, but all it did was let the sadness in that I was suppressing. He took my hand and pulled me inside his hallway, closing the door behind me. Without asking me anything he pulled me towards him, and hugged me, so we stood there for a while, in a sweet embrace, and after what seemed like an hour, but must've been a minute or so, he eased his arms a little, and took a step back, so that he could look into my eyes. It felt so nice, to just stand there, with him holding me like that… So safe and protected… 'Are you ready to tell me what's up, Gregory my darling?' (It gives me shivers sometimes when he calls me that… I'm worthy of being called 'darling' by this delightful man…)

I wasn't ready… Just trying to find the words 'my dad is at deaths door' or whatever would've come out of my mouth, felt like having a knife driving through my heart. Saying it would make it real, and that would mean I'd have to accept it, and I so wasn't ready for that.

'Come and have something to drink…' Mycroft takes my hand again and leads me to the living room, which turned out to be an enormous space, that has dividing doors with beautiful art deco leaded windows in it, but I wasn't really paying attention to them. In the dark haze I see a brown leather Chesterfield sofa, which, after I take my winter coat off, I sink into, feeling awful. I pass the coat to my boyfriend (!), who then goes off to find me a glass of whiskey, which he offers to me and I take gladly, to then feel the warmth of his body next to mine as he sits down and puts an arm around me.

'My dad… He's not… He's…' I babble, staring into the fireplace, which has a fire crackling ever so prettily (Mycroft's obviously been planning a very special time here, and I'm wrecking it neatly for him…).

'What is it with your dad? Is he ill? Has something happened?' he's taken my hand again, turned his body so that he can look at my facial expression, hoping that that will give more clues than what he's getting from my verbal account. 'Gregory?'

'He's in Intensive Care…' I whisper. There's a lump in my throat the size of a tennis ball.

A small side of me is feeling slightly odd for being this feeble, showing this kind of weakness so early in this relationship… I mean: how long have we known each other, really? And I'm already allowing him to be Strong for me, to see me struggling, but I really couldn't care less then… I allow him to do what he obviously feels quite happy to do for me, and I turn my face to him, about to cry.

Just then my phone makes a text message alert, and I instinctively move to grab it out of my coat pocket, which means I have to move off the sofa, out of the embrace, and I hesitate for a second. The time I need to decide whether I want to carry on being held by Mycroft or deal with the possible reality of Nathalie with bad news.

Mycroft reaches out to get my coat and passes it to me gently. I fish my phone out of the inside pocket and push on the envelope symbol on the screen to reveal the message it's received for me, with apprehension.

~ _seriously, call yourself a detective… you get paid for this… how could you miss the clue from the guys' toes?_ – SH

Oh. Right… Life apparently carries on… Sherlock is still working stuff out on the case that suddenly comes crashing back into my mind. And I couldn't give a monkey's…

~ _sorry sherlock, not a good time right now… do you mind if I come back to you on that?_ – GL

~ _crime waits for no man, detective… you of all people should know this_ – SH

I sigh, knowing he's right. I drop my head on the soft leather back of the sofa, and onto Mycroft's arm.

'Bad news?' he says, stroking my face.

'Your brother…'

'Ah. Let me deal with that for you…'

He moves to grab his own phone and I can hear the tapping of fingers on the screen, him breathing deeply, then saying, 'that should do it…' and putting his mobile back on the coffee table.

Only for mine to chime once again.

~ _tell my brother to piss off, will you… I shall leave you to it for now… reply a.s.a.p._ – SH

~ _please…_ - SH

I show both messages to Mycroft, who sniggers curtly. He places a kiss on my hand, and plays with my fingers for a bit.

'Are you okay? I mean, really? Do you want to be here, or do you want to be with your family?'

'Not sure, to be honest… It feels so nice to be here with you, as if I can deal with anything, even this thing with my dad… Whatever is going to happen to him… Maybe I should be with my mum and Nat, but I don't know if I can do it on my own…'

'Do you want to ring your sister? Just to know a bit more…'

I do and I don't… I don't want to leave this living room, this sofa, the arms of my love, the warmth of his body… I sigh deeply again. But before I can make a decision on this, my phone rings.

Nathalie…


	5. snowed under

**5. snowed under**

Thick, heavy snowflakes battle with the wiper blades for windscreen domination, while Colin, our designated driver for tonight, battles his way over the motorway, trying not to get the car into trouble and us in a ditch. We're one of few cars on this road negotiating the snow that had started falling about three hours ago, while I was in the taxi to Mycroft's house, making the journey from his house in London to Bournemouth, where my dad is fighting for his life, very long.

I'm slumped against my love's tall body. He insisted on joining me on this trip, being concerned for me emotionally as well as physically. When I suggested that I'd take a taxi to Bournemouth (after Nathalie gave me the news that dad had come out of a coma, but wasn't showing signs of recovery, and could I possibly make my way over there, as she reckoned it probably wouldn't be much longer) and I bit back tears, Mycroft put his hands on my shoulders and insisted on catching my eyes, and said, determinedly -

'I won't hear of it, Gregory… You're not doing this on your own… One of the benefits of being in a relationship is that one can _share_ stuff… I'm coming with you. I'll get a car to come over for us…'

This was the last that was said, as I had no fight in me right then, and Mycroft can be a bossy one if he gets in that mood.

It does feel very nice to have him here with me, as I'm not looking forward to seeing my dad on that bed with tubes and machines and what have you, all vulnerable and incapable. My dad and I haven't always seen eye to eye, I've not been what he's liked me to have been, but he wasn't a pushy kind of person either (that was my mother's part to play), and he just sort of put up with me. We were nice to each other, which I suppose is fair enough… I would have loved him to be more involved in my life when I was young, be like those dads that took their son out to a football match, or go on fishing trips, but he'd not go further than allow me in his shed, his inner sanctum, where he'd be busying himself with things to make around the house, out of my mum's hair… But he was never weak and powerless. He was too proud for that…

The road is awful, with the snow clinging to it, and it being slippery. We see the odd gritter-truck lumbering past, trying it's best to free the motorway of the sludge, but I feel Colin having a fair bit of trouble keeping the Bentley going forward. I nestle up to Mycroft a bit more, who leans his head on mine a little.

'It's going to be fine,' he mumbles into my hair, then presses a sweet kiss on it. 'Just relax a bit, if you can…'

'Hm… I'd love to… But I can't stop thinking… You know…' I sigh, not really knowing how to say what I feel. Then Mycroft turns to me, and smiles that beautiful smile, the one that makes me feel all love struck and weak at the knees.

'I know…' he says with his soft, calming voice, 'I've been there, Gregory. I've been at my father's side when it was his time to go. Far too early, of course, and my mother was almost hysterical with grief, which was strange, because I don't think I've seen her express emotion before… Sherlock was disruptive, as per usual back then, and it was up to me to display some sort of calm, to keep things ticking over…' he still smiles, though I can clearly see his sorrow. 'It's okay… Don't worry about whatever it is that you feel… I'm here now… And I love you…'

From the depths of my soul I manage a smile, and I lean over to kiss the man that's saving me from despair. My lips touch his, carefully at first… Simply because I'm not sure if that's what I should be doing now… We're on our way to hospital, to be with my distraught family, on a road that's treacherous at best… All I want is the comfort of the embrace of my partner, to feel him show his love for me, so that I don't have to think about anything else for a minute. Or maybe a few minutes…

And he answers my need with a searing kiss, embraces me with such affection, so much warmth, that I nearly choke. His lips capture my mouth for a while, then move away for a second, only to nip at mine, plant butterfly kisses at them, sweetly, as his arms hold me securely, and slowly one of them moves out a little, to grab my head, and stroke my face, and my hair, and I feel so blissful for that time that he's tending to me in the only way that feels good right now…

For minutes the only sounds I hear are the engine whirring and the slush of the snowy road, and us two kissing. It's intoxicating to feel his mouth do gorgeous things with mine. Mycroft makes sure I don't go further than this, moves my hand neatly out of the way when I wish to open the buttons of his shirt, or move near his waist, and go further south. He laces our fingers together, and holds me tight, ends the kiss that is sending me to places that probably aren't appropriate.

'Better?' he asks with a mischievous grin.

'Bit…'

The rest of the way, at the speed of old ladies on a rainy day, we spend talking about his childhood, and I hear the weirdest stuff about Sherlock, and their lives in Holmes Mansion, somewhere in Gloucestershire, and sort of understand why both men are the way they are. My prospective mother-in-law sounds like a bit of a feisty lady, someone not to be trifled with… Not really sure if I want to meet her now… And I feel very sorry for Mycroft for being thrust into the role of man of the house at the age of 19, having been treated by his parents as a 'project' to prove that they, as academics were capable of raising a civilised, accomplished child. And when their experiment appeared to go 'right', plumbed for another one, which turned out to be Sherlock, who proved to be a little less malleable, with a sharp mind which he put to a completely different use, to the despair of father Holmes, who just buried himself in his job even more, leaving Project Childrearing to his wife, the nanny, and the boarding school both boys were sent to.

'It probably sounds strange to you, Gregory, but in a way being in that school was a life saver… Suddenly I was surrounded by boys that, apart of course from the obnoxious ones that made life hell, showed me more tenderness than I had felt ever before… It was like the sun started to shine, and I dreaded going back to the Manor so much, that I developed ailments each time end of term neared…'

His voice sounds flat, like he's gone back to those days, so I hug him a bit tighter.

'Sorry…'

'For what?'

'That your childhood sucked so much… At least I've got happy memories, with parents that liked me being around, and showed me that… All you have is all that unhappy stuff, and that makes me sad… I want to see you happy, you're lovely when you're happy…' and I move my hand to turn his head so that I can kiss him.

At that point the car swerves slightly, and Colin coughs, mumbling 'sorry sir' to where we're sitting. I'm not sure if it's the snow he's having trouble with, or what Mycroft and I are up to on the back seat. I have a feeling he won't be hearing the last of this.

Nathalie has rung me twice on the trip so far, asking me if things are okay on the road, the telly shows frightening pictures of cars in ditches and roads that are impossible to drive on, but I can tell her that things are fine.

'The driver is doing his best to keep us alive here, Nat… Don't worry about me…'

'_Driver?!_' was her reply. '_What the fuck are you doing in a car with a driver?! Have the police got too much money? How come you're not driving yourself?_'

'Um… Mycroft has a driver…'

Nathalie is a fervent socialist, who doesn't believe in rich people, and to a large level I completely understand what she means. She refused to have anything to do with the well-heeled girls of her year in grammar school, dressed as anti-establishment as our school uniforms allowed and managed to get where she wanted to be without the help of anyone but her friends and sheer skill, never playing games, and I know she'll have a huge problem with my new love if I tell her what his background is… I'm getting a taster of it here…

'_Mycroft… has a driver… you're screwing a guy that… Bloody hell, Greg. You bastard_…'

'Oh come on, Nat. We're a bit too old for this, don't you think?'

'_You're never too old to have principles, Gregory Lestrade_… _Never mind… I hope you'll be here soon, mum is in pieces… Say hi to your lord or baron or whatever he is…'_

I snigger back at her as I ring off, and tell Mycroft about her reservations on his bigwig credentials, which makes him grin.

After what seems a day we reach the outskirts of Bournemouth, which doesn't seem to be hit by the snow quite so badly, and get to the hospital without too much hassle. Colin drops us outside the entrance, and Mycroft and I walk off to the reception desk, ask the nurse on duty where we can find Mr Lestrade. It's half past eleven in the evening, and there's nobody around, apart from the odd nurse, who greets us kindly. I find myself getting more and more quiet, anxious about what I will find when I get to the room, and appreciate Mycroft's hand, which suddenly appears in mine, very much.

The door to the room is closed, and I have a quick look through the window. I see my mother on a chair next to my dad, who's got tubes coming out of his nose, and my sister is sitting on the window sill. My mum is holding her husband's hand, and she's looking at him, willing him to get better. I hesitate to open the door, and need Mycroft's hand on my shoulder to wake me out of the nervy state I'm in. I've dealt with far more frightening stuff at work…

'I'll wait out here when you need me, you go in and be with your family,' he says, smiling kindly, then nodding towards the door.

As I push the door open, I can see two heads turning to me, smiling when they see it's me. My mum reaches a hand out for me to grab, which I do, and Nat walks over to hug me. My father is still asleep, but I can see him stirring.

'How is he?' I ask.

'Sleeping, calm for now…'

'Has he been awake at all?'

'Yeah, he's in and out of sleep, but he's not in pain… The doctor has made sure of that…' Nathalie says, in charge of her feelings as much as she can manage. She and my dad have always been very close, in a way that I was with my mother. Still am, I suppose…

'Hey Greg,' I suddenly hear the croaky voice of my father, above all the whirring of the machines in the room. My heart breaks…

'Hi dad,' I whisper. 'What are you doing here, aren't you supposed to be fixing window sills or something…?'

'Yeah… That'll have to wait…' he answers with a silly smile, and the room lights up a bit. 'It's good to see you, son.'

I nod, while trying not to cry.

'How did you get here? Thought you didn't have a car anymore…' he looks at me confused, and I look at my mother to see how much I can tell him.

'He knows,' she whispers.

'Um, I've been driven by…'

'He's going out with a lord, dad…' Nathalie says, trying to make it sound okay.

'You're what?'

'He's not a lord, Nat… Or at least I don't think so… His dad was, but… Oh, bloody hell, I'm not here to be interrogated, am I, I've come to see dad…'

'Don't do this, Nat… Not now…' my mother chips in, hoping to stop the nose dive this conversation is making.

'You're going out with a posh bloke?' my dad sniggers, 'Good for you, Greg… Why not… As long as he makes you happy…' He takes my hand and smiles. 'Don't let anybody tell you differently, Greg… You need to be happy, really happy… I know you tried with Louise, and although she was a lovely girl, she wasn't right for you…'

He squeezes my hand. My mum sniffles, and Nat huffs a little.

'Is he here? Can I meet him?'

'Yeah, he's just outside… But shouldn't you be taking it easy?'

'Screw that… I might not be here anymore tomorrow… Greg, I've done what I should do for far too long, I've been good and all that, and see where that got me…' he points to the room we're in, 'a box room with tubes coming out of my nose… I wish I'd followed my heart, Greg… Lived more… Like you… Sure, I was shocked when your mum told me you're with a guy, but it wasn't that much of a bombshell… I knew you were into that posh guy at school, what's his name, Anthony something, I've seen you moon over him, read the letter you wrote to him and then discarded… I'm not stupid…'

Nathalie leaves the room to see where Mycroft is, and comes back with him in her wake. He looks at me questioningly, trying to work out what he's doing there.

'Maybe we ought to leave for a bit,' my mum says, looking at Nat, 'Give these guys a bit of space… Nice to meet you, Mr Holmes...'

She looks quite pleased to meet the guy I talked about the other week, but seems too absorbed by events to really let it sink in. She gives me an approving glance, though.

I'm left in the small room with my father and my boyfriend…

'Dad, this is Mycroft, Mycroft: my dad…'

'Hello Mr Lestrade, how nice to meet you,' Mycroft says in his official voice. The hand he extends is grabbed by my dad, who shakes it with both hands like he's just met Elvis Presley, were he still alive.

'Hello Mycroft, please call me Bill. So you're my son's boyfriend…' he wrinkles his forehead, then smiles. 'Good… Never thought I'd live to see the day…'

We all smile, glad that tension has gone, and carry on chatting for a while. Then my mum and Nat come back in, and I walk Mycroft out of the small room, hug him and tell him I'll be over to see him shortly, then go back in with my family. There's a good feeling in the room, my dad is cheery, my mum as much as she can manage, and Nat and I have found the silly banter level we used to have as kids, and all is well for a while. Until my dad goes into cardiac arrest and everything becomes a blur, and nurses and doctors do what they can, but it's too late…

My Dad has passed away…

And I cry…

o0o0o0o0o0o

A week later I'm in bed with Mycroft – his bed, in his house…

The funeral and all that went with it has been dealt with the day before, and Mycroft had been there for me all that time, as much as was feasible. He sat next to me during the service, alongside my mother, and her sister, and Nathalie and her two grown up kids, and when we as a family were wished warm, loving thoughts by everyone that came – my extended family, the guys at the bowls club that my dad had been a member of for thirty years, his colleagues at the post office, where he worked all his adult life, the people in the street (my old neighbours, who knew me as a kid and looked a bit confused at the man by my side, though no one made a remark) – which made it all a little bit less painful. Just a tiny bit…

'I never thought that I could feel this numb…' I whisper to the man next to me in the bed. We're on our sides, facing each other, and he's put his hand on my waist, while mine is stroking his face.

'As if you'll never feel again… I know… It will pass, my darling, it really will… Just give it time…' he whispers back.

'Thanks for being there with me, yesterday… I don't think I could've done it without you…'

'Don't be silly… I wouldn't have let you do all that on your own…' he smiles.

'It was weird to see Louise again, though… speak to her, after all the… Well…' I smile back, embarrassed.

'She seems quite sweet, after all you said about her…' he looks at me pointedly. 'I was expecting someone like Anthea… It's a shame when people grow to dislike each other sometimes… Seen it happen when I was young… Hope it won't happen between us…'

I look back equally pointedly.

'There's two people in every relationship, Mycroft… There were two in mine, with her… It wasn't my entire fault…'

'I didn't say that… I just meant… Never mind… Let's not go there… I want to spend this morning enjoying you, in my bed, not drag the past up…' he pulls me a bit closer to him, and plants a kiss on my mouth.

'Oh, why not,' I giggle when he stops for air, 'I love a bit of dredging now and then… And I'm sure you have a few skeletons in your closet, somewhere…'

'You leave my closet out of it, naughty boy… Come here,' he says, while he wrestles me to my back, and leans over me to capture my mouth once more.

It's lunchtime when we get up…


	6. theatrics

**5. theatrics**

At half time the crowds stream out of the place in search of drinks and lavatory facilities. The scenes that had been performed in front of them had been pretty intense and the crowd's reactions were uproarious, and a break was very much needed, it appeared. Men and women dressed up for the occasion, pretty outrageous some of them, walked out, chatting, being very cheerful, if not quite rowdy, and we join the bustle in pursuit of something to drink.

The building of the Royal Opera House is as grand as it gets in my books, nothing like I'd ever been to before (though I've walked past it many times), and I feel a little out of place. Nothing like how wrong Mycroft felt when he joined me for a match between Arsenal and Newcastle United, a few weeks before, mind you… The opera crowd is nowhere near as graceless and animal-like as a football crowd can get when the chips are down…

Mycroft persuaded me to join him for an evening out, as he had tickets for La Bohème, and was fed up with going on his own, or with people he wasn't romantically involved with. Even though he knew my knowledge (and appreciation} of Opera was nil. I said I would if he went to a football match with me, and I must say: he was a great sport for accepting the challenge… I never thought he would. I almost told him to forget it, that it wasn't important, but it appeared important to him… A matter of pride, or such like…

I was touched to see him dressed in casual stuff (as casual as Ralph Lauren can make a pair of jeans and a sweater look, of course… I.e. not very…), especially for the purpose of impressing me, to show me he can be in touch with his 'common' side, and he really tried to not stand out like a sore thumb amongst my mates, whom I'd informed of my new status as Being Together With Mycroft Holmes a few weeks before, which they took on board quite well, considering the abusive chants I've heard them join in with on some matches… They were very pleasant to him, really doing their best not to patronise him, but as soon as the match got under way, and it got a bit tense with balls flying past our goalie, my mates looked like beasts of the field, the way they were baying for blood… My poor boyfriend never looked as uneasy as he did there…

'So what do you think so far,' asks Mycroft as we shuffle closer to the bar.

'Yeah, it's nice… Impressive… Never thought I'd like that kind of performing as much as I did just now…'

'You're not counting down the minutes until it's finished then?' he smiles, though his eyes look far more questioning.

'No. Not at all… Funny to see the crowd here, looking so very civilised and polite… So much nicer than I expected, really…'

'What, you don't miss the offensive carolling? This isn't too pedestrian for you?' he smiles once more.

'Pedestrian?! This? You daft?' I laugh out loud, which offends a few old ladies in the queue in front of us, so I nod apologetically.

'Just checking… I wouldn't want you to feel uncomfortable… Oh, hello, James… Nice to see you here,' Mycroft aloofly greets a friend who has sidled up next to us in the queue, though he appears to have got a beverage already. He eyes me up curiously, then carries on with Mycroft.

'Hey, Mycroft Holmes! How wonderful to see you here! It's been far too long, of course.' he bawls. 'Who's your friend?'

'James, this is Gregory, my… Um…' he looks at me questioningly, not sure what to call us, then plumps for, 'partner…' (which is astonishingly nice to hear, I must add…).

'Oh, I see… Hello Gregory, nice to meet you, I'm James Rosenbaum, an old study buddy from Mycroft's… Amongst others…' he laughs loudly, and I see Mycroft grin, not that much at ease. 'So, Munchkin, old boy, how's life treating you these days… Are you still with Anderton and all that lot?'

I give Mycroft a look of shock and merriment – Munchkin?! – and go to touch his hand, only to find he's backing off, colder than I've ever seen him.

Okay. Not good…

'No, I work for the government now. Minor position and I like it a lot there.' His voice sounds cold, like he can sound when he's threatening people, very much on his guard. He's never spoken to me like that, and I'm glad he hasn't. He's turned into the kind of man I look to arrest, not sleep with…

'Ah. Nice one… Shafting them from the inside…'

The ladies in front of us look around offended once more, and I flash my charming smile at them, which appears to work again. It's their turn to order at the bar, and I look at Mycroft, hoping he's been freed of his pest, but no such luck. His smile is thinner and colder still.

'What would you like to drink, love,' I ask him, hoping that will work.

'A red for me, but I'm getting them in. It's been nice to see you, James, but I need to go now…' he says with the tightest smile he has in his repertoire, and turns his back on a dumbfounded chap, who carries on smiling when he flounces off to find another victim. Mycroft closes his eyes and exhales a very deep sigh.

'That was close…' he breathes.

'Bad news?' I grab his hand again, and this time he lets me.

'Not half… I'll tell you another time, this isn't the place… What are you having?'

'A beer if they have it…'

A minute later we walk off to a tall table near a window with a red wine and a bottle of Grolsch, with Mycroft still on his guard and me feeling slightly uneasy.

'Are you okay?' I ask, needing to know.

'Yeah, I'm okay… You up for the second half?'

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The taxi-ride back to his place is long, as traffic is bursting with people up for a night out, and Mycroft takes my hand, and starts fiddling with it, stroking it absently, then looking at me and smiling that insecure smile he used to sport right at the beginning of our courting (I love that word…), and I smile back at him, then move to plant a kiss on his lips.

We managed to avoid meeting his old 'study buddy' again, when the opera had finished We wrestled our way out to the cloakroom area to retrieve our coats, but found it was pandemonium there, and took a seat on the leather benches on the side, busy chatting about anything that came to mind. When we finally got our coats, we go to hail a taxi, of which there's hundreds out in the street nearby.

'You ready to tell me what all that was about with that James-guy?' I whisper to him, and instantly wish I hadn't. He freezes at hearing the name.

'Not really, no. Maybe later… Can't we just enjoy this for now?'

I nod and put my head on his shoulder, trying to forget my curiosity about the chap that made my dear Mycroft feel so uncomfortable, instead remembering the opera, my first ever, in all its glory. I did enjoy it, much to my surprise, although it probably helped that I was in such nice company, making it easy to assimilate to the surroundings I was in. The glorious building, the intriguingly dressed and behaving people. We bumped into a few more of Mycroft's friends, a Lord and Lady Mackintosh, and a few colleagues from his department, and Clarissa, a friend of the family's whom he's been to see things with before I appeared on the scene. She was a lovely woman, all grand and posh, but she was sweet to me, and even more so to Mycroft.

It was funny to see him in his natural settings, to see how he is with 'his' people… He was of course absolutely how I expected him to be: correct, polite, a version of at ease, well-mannered… Just like all the guys like him that I meet on a professional basis, as if they've been taught a way to be that they spring into whenever the situation requires it. So not how he is what he's with me…

We arrive back at his house and go inside. In the living room I get given a glass of whiskey that I didn't ask for, and sit down on the settee. He must've texted the housekeeper that we were on our way back, because there's a roaring fire going in the hearth, and the room feels pleasantly warm. Mycroft nudges up to me and wraps me into his arms.

'Thanks for coming along, it feels nice to get to share a part of my life outside this place and my brother…' he says. 'I'm glad you've met Clarissa, she's been a dear friend for so long. She's introduced me to the opera, about twenty years ago, when I was fresh out of college. She was an old friend of Mummy's, from her years when she worked in the Physics Department in St. Bart's, where Clarissa worked as a secretary. A great deal warmer in her dealings with me, as well… She became a close friend, and along with her partner, Anna, she sort of looked after me.'

He's relaxed so much, as I feel myself disappear into his embrace. I'm very happy to have heard that he did receive some form of affection, after having left home and the love of his nanny behind at such a young age. Sometimes I am amazed that men like him, having been carted off to a boarding school, are capable of feeling love (and loved) at all… I hug him a bit more, to try and compensate for all the warmth he's missed out on so far.

He responds by nuzzling my neck, which is where his mouth is, and softly trails my skin with his lips. I can hear how his kisses make soft sounds, and the feeling makes me shudder a little. I manage to relax more, let my head lay back slightly, so that he gets better access, and carries on his ministrations. His breath feels warm and sensual, and his hand touching my face makes me want to do wicked things to him in turn. He moves to kiss me now, warm, wet kisses, as his mouth takes over mine, his lips gliding along mine, and his tongue joining in the fun. I'm feeling heady, ecstatic at the notion of where this might be going, and I move my hand to untuck his shirt, eager as I am to feel the skin of his body. He lets me, moving over a little to give me a better angle. Then he moves in to push me over, and before I know it I lay spread eagled on the cushions of the sofa, quashed slightly by nearly 6 feet of government official… And it feels wonderful…

I'm still overwhelmed by my feelings for this man, every now and then. To realise that I'm in love with him, and he with me… The intensity of this is amazing, and there are days that I fear it might disappear again. That we become pedestrian…

But for now that's certainly not on the cards. I pull back a bit, to look into his eyes. Eyes that are full of desire, and what I presume is love, above me. My hand strokes his face, and I give in to the desire to declare myself to him. 'I love you so much, Mycroft Holmes… Let us never be pedestrian… Please promise me that…' I whisper, and I see him smile at me, a little shy.

'I don't think that's ever going to happen, Gregory Lestrade… Not with you in my life…' he whispers back, and leans down for another kiss. He makes a start with my shirt, only to find that that works better when I sit up a bit. I take off my tie and shirt and notice how lovely that fire still is, then feel an intense urge to be nearer to it, and move to persuade Mycroft to follow me.

'What if… What… Oh hell,' he mumbles, and moves over to where I'm lying on the fluffy rug by the fire. It's so warm there, and so peculiar too, to be undressing my lover, and him stripping me of my clothes, and to lie down, next to him, his arms on mine, and mine on his, that any feelings of reservation, of doubt fade like paper would in the flames of the fire next to us.

His mouth is on mine once more, and he follows whatever feelings of lust and desire have taken over, and I do the same.

Making love to Mycroft is something so different to any of the men I've been with so far. It probably has something to do with the fact that I have strong feelings for this guy, that it seems to have a meaning, rather than a quick release, or a one-night stand, or whatever else I've allowed myself to have. It just never really seemed to happen, really falling in love with a guy, not since Anthony in grammar school, and that went nowhere. This is different, in a very nice way… We don't just have sex… It's a part of something a lot more significant, something that I've not felt before, not even with Louise… Not really…

And somehow that suddenly frightens me…

What if that goes away again…? What if I feel that this isn't really what I want in my life? Not in the long run…

Mycroft notices my hesitation, and stops his laving of my neck.

'What's wrong, Gregory?' he asks, his voice soft with confusion.

'I'm sorry, it's nothing… I just thought that…' I'm reluctant to tell him about my sudden worries. What good will it do?

'I've been told by people who know about this sort of thing that it helps to share feelings with one's partner…' he says, and moves to lie down next to me, head propped up by his hand. The fire is still going, though one of us will have to throw a few blocks of wood on it to keep it going.

'It's nothing, really… I just had a little mini-freak out, that's all… Doesn't mean a thing…'

'A freak out? Sounds rather serious… About what, exactly…'

'Oh leave it, please, it's nothing…' I'm feeling silly now, cos the thoughts that made me throw a wobbly have vanished now, and all I want is to carry on where we left off, only my darling boyfriend wants a Spanish inquisition… Maybe I should tell him, get it over with…

'Maybe I should tell you about James first… Now that the mood has momentarily vaporised,' he says with a sweet smile, and strokes my chest tenderly, fiddling with the few hairs that grow there.

'What, has this turned into confession time? Will you be putting on a vicar's collar in a minute?'

'I'm a catholic, Gregory… Well, mummy had us baptised, and we had all the rigmarole of lessons and liturgies and communion and all that, and me being a good boy lapped it all up…'

'But I thought Catholics didn't believe in the existence of gay people and all that…'

'Well, yeah, that's the bit I found hard to accept, and the main reason why I turned my back on it all. Anyway, that's not what I was going to tell you, I was going to give you an insight in to why Mr Rosenbaum gave me the heebie-jeebies, earlier this evening… Unless you prefer to talk religion, of course…' Mycroft smiles down on me, and I feel myself getting rather warm.

'We shall see in a minute. Commence, my dear,' I say, stroking his forehead lightly and cupping his face with my hand. He leans into it for a second, than moves to find the throw that normally sits folded up on the side of the sofa, and lays it over us both.

'Okay, here goes… I met James in the first week of being in Oxford, where we both read law and sort of got on quite well. He was unlike any other guy I'd known thus far and his unusual ways appealed to me, rather a lot. We became very close friends, and I may have been in love with him, but I knew he had no interest in me in that way, was always going on about girls, so I left that notion behind very early on. Our shared interest was vintage cars, and we had lengthy discussions on the matter… He was fairly ambitious, but I saw that he was lazy as well, wanting to achieve what his goals were with the least amount of effort.'

Mycroft smiles at me, then looks at the fire, which is gaining momentum again, after he's put some more wood on the embers.

'And in the second year, he began to steal items form the Dean's office, at first. Small things first, like a cigarette lighter, books, and a costly fountain pen, nothing conspicuous. He showed me his trophies at first, but as they became more significant, and he pinched things from fellow students, with my disdain for it in the back of his mind, he hid them. Not well enough for me to find them in his cupboard, and I noticed that his prizes became bigger, and he became brasher, until he got caught. And he got into quite a bit of trouble, which made him really upset, but he promised to do better, to redeem himself, and I think he did, for quite a while. Until I found some things in his room that I knew belonged to someone else, and confronted him with it. And that made him rather cheesed off, to put it mildly.'

Mycroft rolled onto his back, with a hand going through his hair, and sighed.

"That's when the threats started…'

'Threats? What, he started bullying you?'

"Hm… Not to tell anyone, or he would be expelled. And he would get himself into enormous trouble with his dad, who had all sorts of future planned for his dear son. So he decided that I would keep my mouth shut, by terrorising me into believing he would tell all that would hear that I was having an affair with one of the deans who was openly gay. And it was known that I got on with this man very well…'

'What a bastard…' I murmured, turning my face to Mycroft's.

'It worked. I was petrified, that I might disgrace the Holmes family name, for instance, and we remained acquainted for a while longer, until I couldn't stand to be in the same room as he. I was so glad I got my masters degree, and never had to see his face again. And then he turned up at the same law firm that I worked for, after a year…'

'Ah… I see… I bet that was fun…'

'Exhilarating… I left because of him… Best thing I'd done… Took the job I had where I met… Never mind… Now you know…'

'Thanks for sharing, my dear… He sounds like a right piece of work… Have you never been tempted to end his career prematurely? Just because you can?'

'Oh, you have no idea what I've thought about doing to that man, but in the end I decided that he's not worth the energy I might put into revenge… There's far more deserving causes for that…'

'Oh, to incur the wrath of Mycroft Holmes…' I laugh, and grab his head to place a well-deserved kiss on his lovely mouth.

'Yeah, you better watch out, Gregory Lestrade, not to get to that point… Your life would not be worth living…' he smiles broadly, and this gets my dander up once more. How does he manage that every time?!

Before I have time to object (not that I was going to…), he's snogging my face off and the Making Out In Front Of A Roaring Fire is occurring after all. Somewhere along the way I hear his housekeeper make a cautious entry in the room, only to notice that her boss is otherwise engaged and she slips out again, leaving us to it.

I shall probably see her in the mroning… Could be embarrassing…


	7. shadow play

**7. shadow play**

And so it went on, from a new romance to an established relationship, and slowly those involved in our lives started to cotton on to there being more going on between us than me and him having to sort out my consulting detective, who just happened to be Mycroft's brother.

Sally Donovan's sharp observational skills, for example, deduced that the black Bentley that seemed to often be parked outside the building, dropping me off, or waiting for me to finish work, was never there before… And I appeared just a little too cheery and contented for there not to be anybody in my life that was making me happy…

Um, could I not just have found happiness within me, like, joined a Taoist meditation class, or something like that? Why should it always be a lover of some sort? She wasn't having it… All there was to find out was the identity of my new woman. All eligible female colleagues passed her scanner, and failed the Bentley test (who would earn enough for a car like that?! My Super Intendant is a woman, well within the earning-frame, but she was living with another woman, so off Sally's tick list).

'Maybe it's not a woman…' is Sgt Wilkinson's addition to the speculations, which I can hear going on within earshot outside my office.

'Nah…' Donovan replies. 'He can't be… He was married, for Christ's sake…'

'Yeah, and he _would_ be the first bloke in history to switch teams… Think about it, Donovan: he never talks about it, he gets picked up in a bloody Bentley, that looks rather a lot like the one that belongs to that brother of your mate, the Freak, when he comes to poke his nose into our business at a crime scene. He smells of _very_ expensive aftershave, one that I certainly can't afford, something by Yves Saint Laurent or Gucci…'

'…Oooh, you know your brands… Been fishing for some for your birthday, Edward?' I hear Sally tease her colleague. 'Oh, alright, it could be a guy, although I find that very unlikely… But who then?'

Silence returns to the room, only to be followed by Donovan's 'Aaaah! That would make sense…'

'So, are you going to ask him then?' Wilkinson teases, 'Put your theory to the test…'

'Just give me a bit, need to check a few things first…'

And then I hear her tapping on the keyboard of the computer for a good few minutes, and I return to my own work, as there's enough to be getting on with. Phone calls to the Manchester office for conformation of details they've sent on a murder case that's been cold for three years, reports that need finishing this afternoon, a text from Mycroft, asking me if I've made a decision yet…

In my afternoon break I decide to go to the deli-café around the corner for coffee, a roll and the crosswords, which makes a very nice break. It's windy outside and I feel it blows cobwebs away, empties my head a little. It's filled with so much right now. Work, of course, and my mother who rings me up every so often, needing a few comforting words, and there's Mycroft's question, that's been bugging me for a while.

Seen as I spend so much time in his house, and it seems silly to keep paying rent on a flat I'm hardly using, and he's felt so happy for the past few months, that there's someone to come home to, who welcomes him and asks him about his day, and pours him a glass of wine, and smiles at his stupid jokes (his words…), it would make him so delighted if I was to move in with him… Please!

I'd like to.

It _would_ make sense… It would make things easier, having all my stuff in one place, and not divided between two, always wondering if a certain dvd or file, or my suit is in his house or my flat, but it it's also quite nice to just be in the flat, sometimes… Not to have to talk to anyone, just to chill out, and listen to Red Hot Chili Peppers at full blast, or Pearl Jam, or Nirvana, stuff I'm pretty sure Mycroft wouldn't be too charmed by (then, neither are the upstairs neighbours, but they're in even more sporadically than I am, and Mr Gardner isn't too bothered…).

I said this to Mycroft, who understood, and smiled politely, hiding his disappointment barely. I said I'd think about it.

Back at my department in Scotland Yard, Sally smiles at me rather mischievously, as I walk by her to go into my office.

'Anything you'd like to share with me, Sergeant?'

'Maybe…' she grins.

'Okay, I'll hear it when you're ready, then,' I say, flinging her a confused smile, then go to open my door.

My chair in front of the desk has it's back turned to me, and just above the headrest I see the hair of someone very familiar to me – the ginger curls of Mycroft peep out, and as he hears the door open, the chair creaks into action, slowly turning around, to reveal my significant other, umbrella in one hand, sun hat in the other. Sally's curious head popped around so I quickly closed the door behind me.

'Hello my sweet, whatever brings you here?' I say, hiding my surprise. I close in to kiss him, then lean against my desk.

'Just wanted to see you… Hoping you're okay after my little pathetic display yesterday…' he answers, sheepishly. He still looks a bit forlorn, like he was desperately trying to hide the night before, not wanting to have me know how apprehensive he was feeling.

'Course I'm alright… Silly, why wouldn't I be? You showing me how you feel isn't pathetic… It's sweet… You're sweet…' I smile and lean down for another kiss, this one longer than the one I greeted him with. He pulls me down onto his lap, which makes the chair creak a bit more.

'Hm, I'll have to get that looked at, I suppose,' I mumble into his mouth, and wrap my arms around his neck. We carry on caressing each other's lips for a while, relieved that the tension between us has ceased. There's nothing more heartrending than a melancholy, nervous Mycroft, it appears…

The knocking on the door makes us break our kiss. I get up quickly, hope I don't look too dishevelled, or excited, walk up to the window and tell whoever is at the door to come in.

Sally Donovan.

'Sir, the files have arrived from Manchester, I thought you might want to have a look…' she walks on to put the folder on my desk, then smiles at Mycroft and turns to leave.

'And…?'

'And? Nothing… That was it…' she almost giggles. 'Speak to you in a bit, sir. Good day, Mr Holmes.'

'Goodbye Sgt Donovan,' Mycroft replies, smiling his most professional smile at her, which is returned by a knowing sort of glance, then one goes my way. I decide to follow her out of the room, making a 'just hang on a sec' sign to Mycroft.

'Sally, could you tell me what's going on?' I ask my Sergeant.

'I don't know what you mean, sir,' she smiles, pretending to be busy with research.

'I heard you and Wilkinson talking about my supposed love-life, and it appears that you've come to a conclusion… Could you disclose your information to me?'

'Surely this isn't beneficial to the work we do here, sir?' Donovan is close to bursting into giggles, but carries on staring at her computer screen.

I'm about to turn around, when she jumps up and catches my arm. 'I know, sir… I know that you and Mr Holmes… That you are… That he…'

'Yes?'

'That you two are involved…' she whispers.

'And you've come to this conclusion, how?' I wrap my arms in front of my chest in an attempt to look impressive, and wait for Donovan's explanation.

'Well, we sort of worked it out between us, and then I checked the number plate of the car that keeps picking you up, and noticed that it was impossible to find anything out about it… Wilkinson was fairly sure that he'd seen the car at crime scenes whenever Sherlock was involved, and your Mr Holmes had turned up occasionally… I was pretty certain that it must've been him, until he walked into your office, just now, and I recognised him from before. And then when I saw you two snogging each other's face off through the window, well, that sort of settled it for me…' she cracked a heroic smile. 'It's okay sir, we're all fine with it…'

'All?! Who else knows?'

'Well, Wilkinson, obviously, and I mentioned it to Anderson, as a cross-reference…'

'Cross-reference? Am I a case now?' I'm feeling a bit daft there, being talked about like this.

'No, of course not, I just wanted to be sure, that's all. Look, it really doesn't matter, okay, it's fine… Now both Holmes guys are in a happy relationship, surely that should make life a little easier for all of us here? I mean, since the Freak got it together with that poor Dr Watson, he's not half the handful he used to be… And you could've done a lot worse than him…' she grins, with a hint of approval dropped in.

'Um, well, thanks, I suppose,' I stumble and smile. I turn around quickly and go back into my office, feeling a little strange.

'So the cat is out of the bag then,' I hear the voice of Mycroft, with a definite amused undertone. 'That was quick, even for her…'

'Yeah. I got her consent, it appears…' I say, raising my eyebrows. 'All is well now…'

'Ah, that's good to know. Now all we need is for Anthea to be okay with us, and we shall live happily ever after…'

He gets up from my chair, putting the hat that he'd placed on my desk on his head, and smirks.

'Nice hat, sir… Care to tell me what that's about?'

'My darling Gregory, I was going to ask you, before we were interrupted by your charming sergeant, if you would care to join me on a short holiday to Cyprus, as I'm forced to go there tomorrow for some silly business on the Prime Minister's behalf – which is all I'm going to tell you, so don't bother asking me – and it would delight me intensely if I had some nice company for a change… Your Super Intendant said it was okay…'

'You already asked her? Oh, okay… don't bother asking me first…'

'I just wanted to be sure that you could join me…'

'So you go around organising things behind people's backs, without their consent or knowledge? Is that how it works in your family?'

I feel a surge of anger welling up in me, something I haven't felt with him since we got involved, so that's pretty new.

'No… Yes… It's okay, if you don't want to come along, Gregory, don't worry… I thought you might like it, that's all…' he looks at me almost in despair. 'I'm sorry if I insulted you…'

I sigh deeply, close my eyes and sit on my chair, putting my hand on my face, wishing to shut the world out for a moment. I just need to think…

Is it that bad what he's done? Isn't it just really quite sweet? Why then am I feeling hurt in my pride? Am I so proud? Is this where the buck stops where the wooing and being cared for by this man is concerned?

'I understand,' Mycroft whispers, and makes a move to leave, but I quickly grab his hand and haul him back towards me.

'I'm sorry, My… I'm just not used to people organising stuff for me like that, nobody's taken a decision for me since I was 19… I'm not used to this… I've never been with someone who pulls strings and goes through trouble so that they can be with me… It's all new to me, you know… And I need some time to get used to it, that's all…'

His fingers mix with mine, and he pulls me up from my chair.

'So you'll join me?' he asks, quietly, still insecure. I'm now standing very close to him, our chests are touching, and I can feel is heart beating fast.

'I'll join you, and I'll move in with you as well… How about that?' I kiss him slowly, gently on the lips, close my eyes to enjoy what I feel, and then suddenly feel a little nervous, as I remember that the door to my office is still wide open. When I open my eyes, I can see Sgt Sally Donovan discreetly sticking a thumb up into my direction, then walk up to the door to close it.

'Oh Gregory… You have no idea how much this pleases me… I thought that… I just… Oh, come here, you wicked man…' and once more we're kissing, with slightly less apprehension on my part. I feel Mycroft put one arm around my waist, holding me close, and one on the side of my face, tenderly, and i slowly copy his moves, holding on for dear life. It takes all my strength to stop myself from going too far here in my office, on my desk… A boy can dream…

o0o0o0o0o0o

The holiday in Cyprus was very pleasant… Being in a warm, sunny place in March is great, and being there with my lover is even greater. Although it took a bit of time for him to adjust to the change in temperatures, coupled with a similar change in attitudes to life, but when the jacket and tie_ and_ waistcoat came off and I saw a mellowing Mycroft appearing to enjoy the more relaxed lifestyle, I vowed to get him to come on extended breaks to Greece or, I don't know, Barbados…

When he's finished with his official stuff, and I've spent some time getting to know the area of Nicosia where the hotel is, we move to a quiet B&B near the south-western coast, and enjoy the beauty of the landscape, the beach near to where we stay, go for long walks, have wonderful meals and I even got my darling Starchy, Repressed Englishman to make love to me on the beach… It was glorious, and quite weird and the look of utter astonishment on Mycroft's face afterwards, having realised what he'd just done, was priceless…

Upon our return to England, I moved my things, whatever I still have in my flat, into the room at the back of the first floor, which has been allocated to me, after I'd expressed the occasional need for solitude, something Mycroft totally understood, he said. The room had previously been used for guests, is fairly big and oversees the lovely garden, and some of the rest of London. I haven't used the room very often, thus far, but the feeling is nice that there is somewhere I can retreat to, if need be…

The evening of my 'official' move, after we have dinner, we discuss possible ways to stop Sherlock from freaking out if he finds out about us, although Mycroft has a sneaking suspicion he already knows and is dealing with it far better than we could even imagine. Mycroft reckons he's gone into total denial… Works for me... John Watson appears none the wiser, and that's fine too. Everyone at work has been informed by Sally Donovan, it seems… Much sniggering happened at first, but that ceased after a few days. Amazing to think how quickly anything can become boring…

The evening is calm, and the fire we sit in front of comfy. Mycroft smells of very expensive soap and curry (which I've introduced him to), and pulls me a bit closer to him. I might doze off in a minute...

'Mummy wants to meet you,' I hear spoken to me, like a bolt out of the blue.

'I'm sorry, what…?' maybe I didn't hear this right…

'I've spoken to my mother on the phone yesterday, first time in a while and she immediately figured that I was in love, from the tone of my voice, and although I tried to deny it, she bullied your name out of me, and now wishes to meet you.' Mycroft looks at me as if I'm a bomb about to detonate. 'I'm sorry…'

'Oh… Okay… Well… Um…'

'You sound very keen…' he smiles.

'Your mum…' I smile back, 'right…'

'She's alright… It's my father you should be scared of… Were he to still be alive, of course…'

'She sounds like a battle-axe… I'm sorry darling, but how you described her, so far, all I can see is some scary Viking woman, with a club… Brunhilda…'

The notion makes me laugh, but I can see that Mycroft is not that amused.

'She's nothing like that, Gregory… Not anymore, anyway… If she ever was, she's pretty mellow now, in her old age…'

'Okay, maybe I should give her a chance… I mean, you seem fond of her, so who am I to piss on that one…'

Brows shoot up in the air at that last bit, but a smile also appears on Mycroft's face, and I reconcile myself with my fate…

Off to Mummy we go then…


	8. sons and lovers

_{a/n: had to move the rating up a notch, as the boys get up to no good, in this one... well, they have been for a while, of course... anyway, hope it lives up to standards of (fairly) good taste... enjoy!}_

* * *

**8. sons and lovers…**

Driving a 1959 Volvo Amazon all the way to Gloucestershire is hard work.

It's a beautiful old car, black, and it had been restored exquisitely, with all the original features gleaming and the leather seats fairly comfortable. It doesn't smell like old cars can (my uncle George had an MG from 1947 which he took us for days out to the seaside, on days when my mother was too busy, and the thing reeked of oil and mould, and god knows what…), and it even handles nicely. I can't go over 55 miles an hour, so we're passed by just about everyone on the motorway, but we also get lots of waves and people hooting us in approval, so it's really quite fun.

The Volvo is owned by Mycroft. I found it the garage that's attached to the house, which he presumably never goes into, as the place contains nothing he ever needs, and the car was hidden under a big dust sheet. I noticed it when Mycroft was giving me a grand tour of the place, and I was immediately intrigued by the big object that sat in the middle of the floor. Lifting it revealed a shiny dark car, a beautiful model, and I asked Mycroft why on earth it was there, why didn't he ever drive it?

'Like I could leave it anywhere in this town without it getting thrashed…' was his succinct reply.

'But do you even drive?' I asked him, assuming he doesn't, seen as he gets driven to wherever he needs to go.

'Yes, I do, well, I did, until I had a crash some time back and the desire to sit behind a wheel had drained away… I used to love driving, especially this beauty, but I haven't dared to, so now she just sits here, under a cover, and gets a spin a few times a year, by Jeffrey…'

I got nowhere asking about the crash, so left that for whenever he was going to be ready to tell me.

For our trip up to his family house I managed to persuade him to get me to drive us there in the Amazon, as I'd sort of fallen in love with it after discovery, and after some thinking, Mycroft decided that he was ready to put the past behind him, a little, and have me take the car out of the garage, first for a quick spin to get the feel of the car. It handled nicely, for an oldie, having been used to power steered modern ones, and I felt confident very quickly to do the long drive West.

Mycroft sits next to me, arm leaning on the window, his head leaning on his hand. He's been pretty jolly all morning, albeit a bit nervous as well. His mother wanting to meet me had been a big deal for him, it seems, and he wants it all to go well, for her to like me, even though I can't see what the problem should be if she doesn't… I mean: it's not as if I'm going to produce him an heir or something like that…

I'm a little reluctant to meet her, going on the stories from my boyfriend and his brother, painting a picture of a fierce woman, someone who commands respect, has a very strong mind and ideas of how things should be done, and I get the feeling that my darling boyfriend is still, after all these years, a little scared of incurring her anger…

At work I've managed to convince everyone that I'm going on a break and do not want to be disturbed. Sally Donovan gave me the '_Oooh, I say'_ look she's been sporting every time Mycroft is mentioned, and left it at that. Thankfully…

'We should be getting to the turning for the village soon,' I hear next to me. 'If you take the one after the next, you should get there with the least amount of bother. And it's the prettiest route…'

I turn left when he tells me, and after a few minutes we're indeed in one of the prettiest parts of England I've been to for a long time. Mycroft is smiling and looking around as if it's been years since he's been here, when it was only last Christmas that he must've driven along these lanes. Spring is slowly making its presence known, with blossom-filled trees lining the road.

I feel a hand on my leg, and look to my left to see a gleaming Mycroft smile back at me.

'It's nice to be here with you… Somehow it makes everything even more beautiful…' he says while blushing a bit.

'Everything is pretty when I'm with you, you should know that by now…' I joke, and receive a gorgeous smile, as the hand on my leg tightens a bit.

'It certainly is…'

We drive along in silence for a while, while I try not to get too distracted by the prettiness of the landscape I'm driving through. Mycroft points out a few beauty spots, and then there's the gate for the house that he grew up in, along the line of trees. The house is nowhere to be seen, hidden behind more trees, far away in the distance.

The gates for Holmes Manor sit between two stone columns, each with an eagle holding the crest I've seen on various items in Mycroft's house. Black iron gates have an elaborate curly shape, look quite pretty, for an iron gate, and they're opened to let us in, and I carefully turn into the driveway, following the tree-lined path towards the house, but Mycroft tells me to take a turn after a bit, then telling me to stop, and I park the Volvo along the path, wondering what he's up to.

'Let's go for a little walk… There's something I want to show you…'

I follow him over the grass, and try to hide how astonished I am at seeing the beauty of the grounds, especially when I see it descending and reveal the splendour in front of me.

'Fuck me, is this all yours?' slips out of my mouth before I can stop it.

'It will be… As far as you can see… See that chimney there? That's the border, there's a village there.'

Mycroft looks a bit coy to share with me how much land will eventually be his.

'Jesus…'

'Come, this is what I wanted you to see,' he says, and takes my hand to lead me up a slope, towards a small stone building, and plenty of moss, that looks like a chapel. Some steps lead up to a door, and he's taken them to see if it's open. Inside is indeed a small statue of Mary, and a few votive candles, but also a wooden bench, a stove and a blanket case.

'This is where I spent quite a bit of time reading… I loved the way it looked out over the hill, and the lake, and the way I felt that I was alone in the world…'

'Wow…' is all I can answer. The view from the small building is spectacular, and I see the appeal. The smell of mildew in the building gets a bit incessant though, and I'm glad we leave again after a few minutes.

'I wonder if Simon is around today…' he mutters, to himself more than me, I guess.

Mycroft walks off towards the lake, where frogs are croaking like it's going out of fashion. Mycroft takes a seat on the bench by the water, staring out over it.

'Afternoon, sir,' we hear a country voice call out to us.

Mycroft looks around and smiles to the bright young chap that's wandering along with a spade over his shoulder.

'Oh, hello Jake, good to see you about… All well here, I hope?'

'Yes sir, very well… We've got loads to get on with now, with everything springing into bloom and stuff needing to be trimmed. Mrs Holmes is keeping us busy with her ideas for the flower beds…'

Mycroft smiles. 'I bet she does… Say, do you happen to know if Mr Jones is about?'

'No sir, he's away today, something to do with renewing the drainage system… I reckon he should be back tomorrow. Can I leave him a message?'

'No, that's alright, I was just wondering… I shan't keep you. We'll be off to the House now. Bye.'

'Bye sir. Hope you have a nice stay,' Jake says, and nods at me.

I stick my hand in the air by way of greeting, and look at my lover.

'Nice chap… Mate of yours?'

'Under-garderner, apprentice. Shows a lot of promise… Hard worker… Clever guy as well… Jones did well for hiring him…'

'Ah. Looks nice as well…'

'Does he? Bit young…' Mycroft looks like he's miles away.

'Who's Jones? He the head-gardener?'

'Yeah…' is all I hear. He then gets up and grabs my hand. 'Let's go and see Mummy…'

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The house is as impressive on the inside as it is on the outside, though nothing as lavish as I was afraid of. It reminds me of Mycroft's place: unpretentious in its interior, elegant and ageless, but oozing style and affluence.

I'm sat next to Mycroft on a small settee, facing the fireplace that has a roaring fire in it. Mrs Holmes sits on a grand armchair at an angle opposite us, and I wait for the conversation to get going. We've done the polite introductions as we came into the room, Mycroft being as modest as I've ever seen him. Mrs Holmes looks rather small, compared to both her sons, who tower over her, as Mycroft did when we shook hands.

'So,' she starts, stirring a teaspoon in the bone-china cup that's decorated with small flowers, 'you're my son's partner…'

'Yes, ma'am,' I stammer, uncertain of how to address her.

'Madam will do me, dear, I'm not the queen… I hear you work for Scotland Yard. Mycroft speaks very highly of you. _Very…_ You've been keeping a beady eye on Sherlock for a few years as well… You deserve a medal, young man… Anybody that can handle that boy is a hero as far as I'm concerned… Although I understand that he too is together with somebody, an army doctor?'

She looks at Mycroft for confirmation, and he nods his head.

'A very sweet and accomplished man, is Dr John Watson. He's managed to tame Sherlock, or something to that extend. Calm him down a great deal… He too deserves a medal, in my books…'

'Yeah, I'd like to meet him one day… Sherlock has managed to decline every invitation I've sent him thus far… Can't you have a word with him, Mycroft?'

'As if he would listen to me, mother…'

'Or maybe you can, Detective Inspector?' she looks at me expectantly, not really assuming I will say no.

'I can give it a go… And please call me Greg,' I say, then see the look on her face and quickly add, 'if you would be so kind… '

'Well, you are as good as my son in law, Gregory Lestrade – nice name, by the way… What did your father do, Gregory?'

'He worked at the Post Office, madam. As a postman first, then moved into the Post office itself, as a clerk, and ended up running the main post office in Dorchester. He loved it…'

'Is that where you're from, Dorchester? Country boy then?'

'Yup… Something like that…' I feel as if I'm being grilled, so change tacks, 'Nice place you have here…'

'It is rather charming, isn't it? It is from my husband's family, has been for centuries. It was built in 1658, and it leaks like a colander. I should get someone in to do the roofs on the other side, near the lake, but I can't find a reliable contractor. Jones, the gardener has been looking around and I think he's on to someone. Hopefully this summer I should live in a waterproof house again…'

'Has it still not been sorted out? I could've done that, mother…'

'You? While you're in London, or off in some far flung place sorting out that silly prime minister's business? No, it's fine, dear… It should still be in one piece by the time I pop my clogs…' she smiles, cheekily to me.

'Mother…'

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The rest of our day is equally as pleasant, which has surprised me greatly. Mrs Holmes took a shine to me, it appeared, and within hours we were thick as thieves. Mycroft looked a little bit left out, and I really tried to hook him back into the conversations we were having, but just after dinner he'd sloped off and I had to go looking for him. Eventually I find him in his old bedroom, pointed there by one of the servants.

He is sitting on a big wooden bed, looking at a booklet that seemed pretty aged. He looks up to me and smiles.

'That went well,' I say to break the silence.

'She likes you… Good.'

'Yeah… It seems that way… What are you reading?'

'Winnie the Pooh… My favourite as a kid.' A glum smile appeared.

'Ah! Mine too… We have a book in common!'

Mycroft smiles at me again, this time with some more conviction.

'Are you okay?' I ask, concerned.

'Yeah, I'm fine…'

I go to sit next to him, lean my head on his shoulder.

'I'm sorry I've pinched your mum…'

'That's okay… It's not your fault that she likes you… Suppose you remind her of Sherlock… Same boyish charm… I'm just… A bit too much like father…'

I hear his voice crack, and look sideways. Still a smile is plastered onto his face.

'And you're fine with that…?'

'I shall have to, Gregory. Not a great deal that can be done… She likes you, and she's okay with us, which is great, really… I remember when I came out to her, well, when it came out that I wasn't straight and in no mind to find a woman to carry on the Holmes line, she was a little bit sad at first, for seconds, and then seemed relieved, not to have to deal with girlfriends and weddings and grandchildren and all that palaver… Like I've saved a great deal of trouble, being this way… And then, when Sherlock also appeared to be gay, she was absolutely fine. Also, not to have to lose her favourite son to some woman… She's never met my other boyfriends… Well, not knowingly…'

'How do you mean?'

'I, um, I lost my virginity to one of the personnel…' Mycroft now goes deep red, blotches appear on his neck, and he dares not look me in the eye.

'Come again…?'

'My first ever… experience… was with someone who works here…'

'What! You dark horse?! You've been doing a D.H. Lawrence behind your mum's back…?'

Mycroft gets up from his bed and walks to the bookshelf. He takes away a few books at about eye-level, which exposes a small door. From his bedside table he gets a key and uses this to open the container. His hand goes inside and he plucks out an old, yellowed book.

'This will tell you all…' he mumbles and hands me the notebook. It's a clouded grey hardback, with black linen corners and spine, and I take it with some hesitation. I'm guessing it's a diary. Not sure if I want to read this, although it's very intriguing to get a flavour of what Mycroft might have been like as a teenager. I open the book on a random page, somewhere in the spring of 1985, and see very swirly handwriting, quite distinguishable as his, talking about books he was reading at the time.

'Any particular part?' I ask, not keen to filter through the whole document.

'From July of that year, the 18th, if I'm not mistaken,' he says sheepishly. 'I was seventeen at the time.'

I flick through to July, find the date he mentioned and start reading.

'_Strange day, very hot. I spent most of it sitting under the old tree by the lake, reading Wuthering Heights, but not enjoying it much so far. Sherlock spent all day with Monkey the cat, he mentioned just now, so that's why I haven't seen him. Good thing too, can't really stand him at the moment… _

_Since being back from school, I haven't swum in the lake yet, though the weather has been absolutely beggng for it… Especially today… At about five I saw a figure on the other side take his clothes off, bar his underwear, and dive into the water. Splashing about like I and Sherlock used to, up to last year… It looked jolly nice from where I was sitting, under the tree, especially as the figure turned out to have a lovely body. Tanned and muscular. I was watching him go about his stuff, swimming and so on, until he looked my way, and I noticed it was Jones, the new gardener. His blue eyes met mine and I felt as if there was lightning going through me… I looked away quickly, and thought that I was okay, until I saw him move towards me, heave himself out of the water, and sat next to me on the grass… _

_I hope I didn't look too uncomfortable, even though the chat we had went as though I was brain dead and he was looking after me…'_

The rest of the page he carried on talking about other things he got on with that day, fairly mundane, though well-articulated, and I leafed on to the next day. More mention of Jones the gardener swimming about in the lake, and more self-conscious writing from my beloved, feeling very insecure about what he was feeling.

'_Rained today. Haven't been outside all day… feeling really glum, miss my chats with _(name scribbled out)_, he seems so sweet, and funny, and I think he likes me more than just being pals… Well, I hope so, of course, as I think I've fallen in love… Which is silly, cos this could never work…'_

Quite a bit of self-pity for a bit, and I noticed that Mycroft has moved on to the other side of the room, looking out of the window.

I carry on reading.

'_Oh, my goodness… I have just been kissed… Really kissed, like they do in films, with arms and hands everywhere and his tongue… God…'_

Few lines on:

'(sribbled name)_ found me, under the tree, while I was really doing my best to get through the last chapter of Wuthering Heights, and I wasn't actually thinking of him as I hadn't seen him for a few days, convinced that he didn't want to know me really. But there he was, with only his jeans on, barefooted, and his gorgeous, tanned body sticking out of those trousers. He sat next to me, asked me how I was, then leaned in and kissed me. In my neck first. Testing the waters, I guess… When I didn't hit him over the head (I was too dumbstruck anyway…), he looked at me, smiled and kissed me on the lips… Oh, Jesus that was so wonderful…'_

'Um, maybe you can just tell me what happened, Mycroft… feels a bit weird to read your account from 25 years ago…'

'No, I'd feel too embarrassed… Anyway, you don't really need to know, do you?'

'Well, you've tweaked my curiosity now… Come and sit next to me…'

'No, I'm alright, Gregory. Carry on…'

'Well, I think I can guess the rest… Was he nice to you? Was it good?'

Mycroft comes to join me, despite his earlier protest.

'Was it that Jones guy you asked after?'

A deep sigh escapes Mycroft, who's lying down beside me now.

'It was… Simon was, well, still is about ten years older than I was, in his mid-twenties then, and after that kiss he went away, leaving me in shock... The next day I waited for him under the tree and he didn't appear, leaving me feeling very foolish, and when I went for a long walk in the evening, quite late, I saw him sit on a chair outside of the cottage that he lived in, on the edge of the gardens, towards the village. He noticed me and waved me over. So I went up, and then he kissed me again, manoeuvring me into the house, and within minutes I'm in his bed, making love…

'It was strange, and very nice, and I was left feeling fantastic, as if I'd instantly become an adult. I stayed for almost the whole night, falling asleep in his arms, sneaked out in the early hours of the morning, and for the next month this was repeated almost each night… Until I had to go back to college and the spell was broken… When I came back for half term Simon was off with me, as if the summer had never happened, and I felt distraught for days. Back in college I threw myself into the work, made sure I had fantastic results, quelled any feelings I had for men and got through life until I went to Oxford.'

Mycroft has rolled himself onto his side, and I run a hand through his hair.

'He married some girl from the village the next summer. So I don't know what I was for him… Bit of light relief? I don't know… And I don't want to know… We're on speaking terms, get on fairly well… I just wanted to introduce you to him, show him how good i am now…'

'You just keep getting crap thrown at you, don't you…?' I say. My index finger runs along his nose, down to his mouth, all along his lips, and he places a small kiss on it.

'How do you mean? That was one of the best things that happened to me in this place… It may not have ended spectacular and romantic, but while it lasted it was pretty brilliant…'

The smile that followed that statement is breath-taking, and he leans towards me, making suggestive eye-movements.

'Fancy adding another one?' I whisper, 'or does it freak you out to… you know… under your mum's roof?'

'Hmm… I don't know, maybe we should try it out…'

He smiles a little shy smile, showing there's still some of the young man left that must have been easily intimidated by his parents.

I close the distance and kiss my dear boyfriend, and he quickly deepens it, pushing me over onto my back as he does so. He leans over me, sneaking his hand inside my shirt, roving the skin of my abdomen and chest. It sends a shiver through me, and i feel I need more of him, fast. I lift my body up a bit, giving space for him to take my shirt off, and i pull his over his head without bothering with the buttons.

He lets me, easily, and his hand carries on stroking my body. gently, eagerly, moves over my chest, on to my abs and lower still... He sneaks fingers inside my boxers, slowly, and stops short of the place that is begging for attention... I'm feeling my excitement go spiralling up, and pull his head down for our kiss to deepen even more.

I feel his hand move back up to my chest, to my neck, and then he breaks the kiss, looking into my eyes, as his resemble dark pools that I'm drowning in.

'Better lock the door... I don't really fancy getting company right now...' he whispers, and gets up to make sure the door is efficiently locked. In that time i take my jeans off, and anything else I'm still wearing. Mycroft looks at me with desire radiating though all his pores. He replicates my actions, discards his pants on the floor and joins me on the bed.

His lips are on mine again, then move to my jaw, down to my neck, making me groan with pleasure. He looks up to me, and smiles, carrying on what his mouth was doing to get my reaction. He moves on to my chest, getting his tongue to lick one of my incredibly sensitive nipples, and again i groan. God, he's figured out exactly what sends me through the roof... Oh, god, this is so fucking wonderful...

I arch my back to be closer to him, to give him even easier access too me, and he responds with moving his hand down to my legs, ghosting the skin there, teasing me, moving closer to my erection, but not quite going there...

'Oh Mycroft, you cruel beast...' I groan at him, and he looks up to meet my eyes, smiles that wicked smile and then touches my cock, just gently hovering on in, then stroking me a few times, and I'm ready to go through the roof...

'Ah, you like that...?' he asks hoarsely, his voice deep with lust.

'God, Jesus, stop talking will you, just keep going, aaahh...' all coherent thoughts have left me, and I need him to have me, and he responds with straddling my lap, his crotch touching mine, just for a while, and then he's kissing me again, planting his lips in my neck, moving down to my chest again, just momentarily licking my nipple, going on to my abdomen, planting wet, sloppy kisses on there. The chill of the air touching it is too much for my senses to cope with, and i grab his hair, making him move down faster than he's going, but I feel slight resistance - he's going his own pace and I just have to wait...

Finally he reached my crotch, but instead of going in for the kill, he's decided to worship the area around it, and I feel him do all sorts of wonderful things to my legs, between them, and then at last move his mouth around me, taking al of me in there, and I swear...

God, I'm so close to coming undone right then, but the feeling of his mouth on me is too good to have finished already...

I meet his eyes, as his movements make me go so near the edge, so close... And then it happens, and I shatter into a thousand pieces, right there on his bed, and he smiles...

Shock waves go through me, as he carries on, slowly, catching the last bits of me, and then moves away...

Not really taking that in, as I'm floating up in heaven, somewhere, and I notice him move to lie next to me, his arms around me, and a kiss in my neck, then on my mouth.

'Oh, god, My, that was wonderful... Uuhh... God... I'm spent...'

'Good, that was the purpose of this...' he smiles so sweetly, that I feel my love for him wash over me, and I kiss him back. I then notice that he has an urgent matter needing to be addressed... Quickly...

So, as we kiss, I move my hand downwards and grab him, as gently as I can, stroke him, and I feel by the way he's kissing me that he disappears into a hazy state himself, and within seconds he's reached boiling point, comes in my hand with a moan that I'm sure can be heard a few rooms away. Guessing he's not too bothered right then...

In a post-coital embrace we drift into a short sleep, until we're woken by a knock on the door.


	9. taking a hike

_* a/n: with loads of thanx to JohnsArmyLady for her continued support... as well as serenityofthematrix - my faithful reviewers... *_

* * *

**9. taking a hike**

Mycroft leaps up from the bed – I've not seen him get dressed so quickly before…

We'd been laying in a sweet embrace, dozing off in each other's arms, his breath tickling the skin on my face. His old childhood bed wasn't nearly big enough (and why the hell was his room still in the state it was?! As if he was going to move back in at some point…), so we had to be quite close together.

It had felt a little bit weird, lying there, on top of the nicely made up bedclothes, knowing his mother was downstairs, and Mycroft had all sorts of memories from his peculiar childhood in the back of his mind… In a way I felt I was helping him dispel bad ones, replace them with some more happy thoughts, even if they were as base as the sex we just had…

But then again: seeing him leap around like a naughty boy, having been caught with his fingers in the biscuit tin, I'm wondering if this is a mission too far… In his normal life in London, he's very much in charge, he knows what he's doing, and he knows he's appreciated for it, but here, the rules are different… They're set by Mummy, who has strong ideas of what is proper and what isn't, and giving your boyfriend a blow job is quite probably not on that list. However heavenly and wonderful said boyfriend might think it was…

'I'll just get that,' he whispers, as if I have no idea what he's doing. I quickly pull the bedspread over my naked body, and wait to see what happens next.

Mycroft has put his trousers and shirt on, not tucked in, and he's still on bare feet. With liberal trepidation he opens the door and looks to see who it is.

'Ah, Wilcox, it's you…' The relief was palpable.

'Hello, Master Holmes, it's just to tell you that the room is ready for you and your friend, at the front of the house, and your mother has tea ready in the Green Room. Would you both care to join her,' the man spoke, without his voice giving anything away.

'Thank you for that, Wilcox, we shall be down in a moment…'

With that he closed the door, his body sagging, and he turned around to look at me.

'You thought it was your mother, didn't you?' I ask with a slight smile on my face.

His look at me is piercing, then he makes a kind of 'well, yeah…' gesture with his face, and he comes to join me on the bed.

'Your mum is happy with you having a sex life, is she?' he asks, while lightly stroking my face with the tips of his fingers.

'No, not really… But she knows I have one, and I think she's grounded enough to know it goes with me being a grown up…'

Although it wasn't always so, to be fair… I remember when I had my first girlfriend, when I was sixteen, my mum was really trying her best to accept her, and not make it look like she was put out by me 'deserting' her for this long-legged, long-haired, pea-brained thing that even I knew I was only dating for the physical aspects… I've never told her that my first time was with the younger sister of my best friend's mum. She had George when she was eighteen, and George's auntie was this twenty-nine year old, free-spirit photographer from London, who had come down for the weekend when George had his sixteenth birthday. I stayed over after the party, and it was all very silly and mad, and Ginny, his auntie, had shown her interest in me early on, and when I went downstairs for a drink at two in the morning and she was out on the veranda, smoking something that didn't smell like the stuff my dad smoked, out in the shed, and my hormones were raging like wild torrents, it didn't take a lot to convince myself to go out there and hang out with her. She was really quite pretty, in an arty way, with short cropped hair, and a fairly boy-ish way about her, and she seemed very pleased to see me. I lost my virginity to her, on the bench on the veranda, with the stars and the moon overhead, and my best friend's mum and dad indoors…

I gave Mycroft the short version of this, as I got my clothes back on, and he smiled.

'Oh, the simpler lives lived… How I'd love to have swapped with you in those days… All I had was catholic guilt, upper-class unease about bodies and hormonal imbalance, and feelings that seemed in all ways wrong…' Mycroft gazes at me keenly, then smiles. 'Shall we go, soon? Or the tea will be cold and I'm already nervous about the reception we might get downstairs…'

Mrs Holmes was reading a book when we join her. She sits by the fire, and looks up from her glasses, smiling at us and put her book down.

'Do you take milk in your tea, Gregory?' she asks, while hovering the pretty milk jug over my cup.

'No thanks, Mrs H, gone off that after a sour milk disaster a few years back…' I smile. 'Can't stand the thought of it now…'

'_Mrs H_? That sounds nice… You can carry on with the, if you wish…' she nods in approval. I look at Mycroft, who raises his eyebrows in wonder.

'Oh, sorry, I just… it's a force of habit, I guess…'

'No, don't worry, it sounds nice. So, I wonder, Gregory, has my son shown you around the grounds yet? It's really pretty at this time of the year, although the frogs do get to you after a while…'

'Yes, he showed me some parts by the lake yesterday. He said it was his favourite,' I say, glancing at my sweet next to me on the settee. I take his hand without really thinking about it, and squeeze it gently.

'I showed him the chapel, mother, I see it's being used again?' Mycroft hides his curiosity well.

'Yes, by Annika… Oh, I haven't told you, have I now? Quite a while back I decided that I need a home help, for my personal business, as I can't ask Wilcox really… It's so inappropriate… And then I found Annika, sent to me by an agency that Clarissa recommended when I saw her at New Year. She's lovely, from Sweden, but she's gone to Bristol for the day, visiting a friend. She will be back later tonight, so you can meet her, perhaps…' Mrs Holmes sparkles when she talks, quite unlike the controlled lady that I met earlier in the day. 'She's discovered the chapel, last week, and decided to make it comfortable for her to read in. Oh, and she's staying in your old room, as long as that's okay with you…'

I hear Mycroft choke on his tea, and swiftly look sideways. 'I beg your…' is all he can utter.

'Well, it's not being used, and it's a nice room…'

She looks at her son sharply, to see how he's taking the news, and in the mischievous glint in her eyes, I can tell she's trying to pull his leg. Perhaps she knows of our earlier activities? Why then would she…? Is this the unpleasant side of his mother coming out? She can see he's not happy, that he's feeling uncomfortable…

'Oh, right…' Mycroft mutters, and smiles shortly at his mother.

'It's okay, Mycroft, calm down… I wouldn't dream of using either yours of Sherlock's old rooms… She's staying on the far side, overlooking the lake… And what you get up to in your room is up to you of course… Even if it is right above this one…' she says, raising one eyebrow.

I shift uncomfortably in my seat, and notice how timid the man next to me has gone. When she was speaking, I detected the sharp, distant, insensitive tones of her other son, dropping sharp little needles, trying to undermine his confidence. From his little brother Mycroft can take it, from his mother not so much. Once more I take his hand.

'It's still nice outside, darling, shall we go for walk?' I say to give Mycroft a way out.

'That sounds nice…' he says, barely audible.

'If you could excuse us, Mrs H, we'd just like to go for another walk. It's so pretty out there now, it seems a shame not to…'

Once outside I grab Mycroft's hand and lace my fingers with his. He moves a bit closer to me, but still seems in a kind of state of shock.

'It's her problem, darling, if she's repelled by your love life…' I say when we're well out of earshot of the house. Birds are tweeting away, and there's a sweet smell of spring flowers wafting over the area where we're walking. 'You're a grown man, with urges and feelings, and if she can't handle that, still, then she's that one with the issue here, not you…'

'I know that, you're right… I've had plenty of therapy to tell me that any desires I might have like the ones that I had earlier are fine, that there's nothing unhealthy or wrong with them… but she has this hold on me, Gregory… It's as if I'm straight back to when I was 14, and entertaining notions of playing with myself, relieving the tension, and all I could see was her face, telling me I was wrong to even contemplate…' He sighs deeply.

'They've fucked you up well and truly, haven't they…' I say, and move to stand right in front of him, looking up into unsure eyes. A surge of anger sweeps over me.

'I love you so much, Mycroft Holmes, and I vow to protect that little boy that's inside there with all I have in my power… I'm not going to let her win…'

I feel a bit strange to declare myself to this man so openly, but it's what I honestly feel – I love him, so bloody much, and to see him this frail is making my blood boil. I lean up to kiss him, and he meets me halfway, our lips touching tenderly.

'Thank you, Gregory, for putting up with me…' He wraps his arms around me, holding me securely, and moves back in for another kiss.

He moves one arm to free a hand up, placing that on the side of my face, stroking it gently. He carefully shifts it round my neck, and carries on kissing me for a while longer, ending it to hug me with so much feeling that I feel myself well up a tad… From the corner of my eye I see his mother move away from the window.

We carry on walking, beyond the trees, to where a field of spring flowers colour the grass pink and white. The arm he's put round my shoulder feels nice, and I'm holding him around the waist, suddenly remembering that Louise used to do that with me. We stand to look at the splendour in front of us, and I lean into Mycroft's tall body, resting my head on his shoulder, feeling both secure and defensive of him.

Our silent communing is cut short by a man wandering along in a big wax coat. I feel Mycroft tense up slightly, but not make any other movements. His hold on me tightens, his hand squeezing my shoulders, as the man approaches. When he makes eye contact and nods at us, my dear seems to spring back into Master of the Estate-mode and lets go of me.

'Jones! How are you?' he calls to the guy that's now reached us. Mycroft holds out a hand.

'I'm fine sir, I have some good news for Mrs Holmes, I'm sure…' he smiles. He seems a couple of years older than me, has a nice demeanour, a solid build, and a very handsome face. I can see why Mycroft still goes a bit weak at the knees for this guy. 'Evening sir,' he then nods at me.

'Hello, Mr Jones,' I say, extending my hand.

'Ah, Jones, this is Detective Inspector Lestrade, form Scotland Yard… He's… Um…' Mycroft is struggling to explain me.

'Your squeeze?' Jones says, winking at me.

'My what?! Oh, I see… Well, you could say that, but I feel he's a little bit more than that…'

'Your boyfriend then… Fiancé? Husband?' he speaks without any kind of worry about what his employer's son might think. 'Bit on the side?' He looks me up and down when he says that, then smiles again. I grin back stupidly.

'Significant other,' Mycroft decides, and puts his arm around my shoulder once more.

'Oh, okay… Nice to meet you, Mr Lestrade,' Jones says, 'I should be off to speak to Mrs Holmes, or should I come back in the morning?'

'That might be better, she's a bit prickly tonight…'

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

In bed, later that night, we just cuddle up together. Not because we daren't do anything else, but because it feels like the right thing to do. The room we're in is simple, pleasant and quiet. Apart from the owls that feel a need to call to each other in the tree in front of our window.

Mycroft seems still a bit wired after the strange evening we had. I confronted him with my deduction that he still feels stuff for the head-gardener guy, and although he tried to convince me of the opposite, he had to in the end admit that yes, he still felt a strong attraction to him, despite everything, despite me standing next to him and him loving me intensely. A case of your first real love never really leaving you… I half joked that he'd have to go if I was to ever move in here with him…

In the morning I wake to find the space next to me in the bed to be empty. I feel slightly disappointed, because waking up nest to Mycroft is one of the things I very much enjoy about being with him. Touching his body, seeing him smile at me, sharing our first kiss of the day… So now, when there's a void there, I just stretch, doze a little longer, make myself get up and go to find the shower (something else that's thoroughly enjoyable with my dearest…), find that it's a bit of an old system, with a pitiful spray coming out of the shower head, manage to just about get my hair washed, then get out again to get dried and dressed and check my phone for messages. Only one from Sherlock, to ask me if I knew where his brother was. I'll answer it later.

It's nine in the morning, and the house is still very quiet. In the room where I'm to take my breakfast, as directed there by Wilcox, I find a young woman, brown haired, normal posture, chirpy, who nods at me and carries on spreading butter on a piece of white toast.

'Morning,' I say.

'Good morning, sir,' she answers, with a pleasant smile. 'You are Mister Holmes? I'm Annika.'

'Hi, Annika. No I'm not Mr Holmes, I'm his partner, Greg. Mr Holmes has gone missing, I'm afraid… Haven't seen him yet today. Nice to meet you, anyway.'

She smiles, then raises an eyebrow. 'Partner? Are you in business?' she asks in a clear almost imperceptible continental accent.

'No, not really… We live together.'

'Jesus, is everybody here gay?!' she utters in bewilderment. 'Sorry, I didn't mean to… I'm not against… It's just that – Mrs Holmes said that her other son lives with a man too… And Mr Wilcox I'm sure is gay… It seems only Jake, the gardener is straight…'

After which she blushes.

I grin, and get myself some coffee from the big pot on the machine.

'Well, they do say that the English have a reputation in that direction… Maybe it's all that repression, stiff upper lip and all that… I don't know… Nobody gay in Denmark, then?'

'I don't know, I'm from Sweden,' she smiles. 'Yes, of course… My brother is bisexual… So through him I know gay people, and it's not even issue with me, Greg, I was just… shocked… that in one family…'

'It's a bit of a weird family, Annika. Don't draw all your conclusions from this lot…'

The door opens and in wanders Mycroft, with a cup in his hand. He smiles at me, and walks up to give me a kiss.

'Sorry I deserted you. I had a sneaky look on my phone when I woke and saw that Anthea had left three messages, so I… Oh, hello there,' he says, following my gaze to the table, and finally noticing the company we're in. 'You must be Annika,' he carries on, unfazed, friendly and sweet as ever. 'I'm Mycroft, the eldest son of Mrs Holmes. I take it you've been introduced to Mr Lestrade?'

"Hello Mycroft, yes, Greg and I have been talking for a bit already… You're not missing anymore, then?' she smiles, and finishes the last of her toast, gets up to pour some more coffee and goes back to her chair.

'I told her you'd gone AWOL, when she mistook me for you,' I answer Mycroft, who looks at me confused. 'Have you dealt with all your affairs? Do you fancy going for a walk? I quite liked the idea of that bit of woodland, down beyond the lake. You fancy coming along, Annika? Might do you good, after a day in the City…'

'City? Yeah, why not? Mrs Holmes has been sorted out and I do have Sunday's off as a rule… I just go and check,' she says and skips off out of the room.

Mycroft looks at me while sipping his coffee.

'Wow, you make friends quickly…'

'Do I? She seems nice, and I thought she might want some company, in this place… Just thought about what I might want if I was her, at that age… Not everyone is happy to be alone so much,' I say, and take the hand that is lying on the counter where the coffee machine is.

'Not everybody has had the chance to be in agreeable company often…'

'And that's why you're with me…' I grin, and reach up for a proper kiss. 'I'm going to singlehandedly replace all your unhappy recollections of the past with good ones… Beginning here in this place… Get your walking shoes on, darling, we're off on a long hike…'

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

It's evening by the time we get back to London, due to the Volvo stalling on the motorway and us having to wait for the right part to be found, and the fact that we didn't leave until well into the afternoon.

Annika proved a great companion, funny and resourceful, and knew a great little tearoom in the village, where we had lunch, spending an hour and a half, Mycroft catching up with the lady that runs the small restaurant. Her parents ran the grocers that supplied to the Manor, and she used to help out in the holidays, finding herself enthralled by the grandness of the house and the beauty of the grounds. She remembered Mycroft as a pale, quiet boy, shy and distant, quite the opposite to his manic brother, who was haring around the place, looking for things to dismantle and research. And she was scared of both Mr and Mrs Holmes, who were cold and reserved, unforthcoming and always with their noses in books.

It was interesting to have done this, even though I know Mycroft would have been happy to have left after dinner last night… The bits of the puzzle of his life are slowly falling into place, and the enigma that is my other half gets unravelled bit by bit…

I curl up against his body, as I feel he's dozed off into a calm sleep – for him… He's lying on his side, and my arm snakes around his waist, my legs tangle with his. I hear him moan lightly, and kiss the soft skin in his neck, just to let his subconscious know that all is well, for now. All is well, and I love him so very dearly…

There's nothing I can imagine that would change the way we are...

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{_famous last words..._}

- the end -


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